#Jo you and your beautiful brain have done it again!!!!

[javierpena-inatacvest]

JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!?!?! THE WAY I AM ALREADY SO HOOKED?!?! 😭😭😭

1. butterscotch orange

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. frankie being a single!dad to a son. coffee date. an: it is finally here! this little thing has rotted me from the inside out and nothing brings me more joy than a romcom. so here we go. buckle in. all hail @secretelephanttattoo for the wondrous idea and support (seriously thank you, i know you know ily, but i don't think I've been this happy writing something in so long). a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who i forced to read this when we had our sleepover, ily.

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics [winks]

IF I CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT. ALL YOU NEED—

It rings, echoes through your skull.

Has been doing so the whole ride over—your groan doing nothing to dilute it, even as you kill the engine of your car and are welcomed with silence.

There’s an element of regret you feel thrumming in you since discovering that perky voice, her high-pitched excitement becoming the bane of your existence. Forever replaying in your head. Regardless of whether it is actually playing. It remains on a loop in your mind—all light and sweet—grating on you from the amount you’ve had to watch it, just to get to this stage.

Realistically, you know you shouldn’t hate the voice, because it has been helpful—in that effortlessly playful way that’s kind of begun to fuck you off.

But then, you’re not even sure if any voice would fare much better. Because you just don’t feel like it’s just that easy—so possible, all simple and quick to do.

Because DIY apparently isn't that trouble-free for you. The bandaids on your palm, fingers, and forearm are proof of it.

Yet, somehow you’re outside of a hardware store.

One that Google promises will have all you need and more. Not that you know what that is.

The only thing you do know is that it at least gives you another reason to focus on something other than the mountain of boxes that never end. The ones not unpacked. In the home that’s now only slowly beginning to feel more like yours, and not the people you purchased it from.

Eyes flicking over the front of the store, the clutter of things all left outside—in judging various shades of buckets and plastic garden chairs—before your eyes land on the door to Harold’s Hardware.

There’s no breeze, but the door moves ever so slightly. Sitting, slightly ajar, as though once—a long time ago—it fit in the frame perfectly, but now remained warped and unwilling to even try. Then there’s the glass, all smeared and sitting inside (what you assume) would have been a bright-white frame that’s slightly yellowed and has been adorned in scuffs, swinging in its layered overuse.

But, at least it’s visited, you think. Shoving open the door, a bell sounds in some distant corner, ringing, it almost muffled by the voice from the video continuing to play in the space between your ears—a to-do list, a handful of items required, listing themselves on a never-ending loop, the billionth play through since you’d woken up.

It’s so much bigger inside than you banked on. Jaw-ticking to the side, eyes marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling display and the array of things all living and existing under hanging signs that appear worn and peeling.

With each second, more and more of the charm comes to you.

That there’s a radio, crackling away, a song from decades gone by playing with difficulty, as an array of scents swirl, fighting themselves for your attention. But, two stand out, fresh-cut wood and lemon disinfectant. The latter you assume kills dirt but doesn’t make the floor tiles gleam in the way they once did. Scuff marks adorning well-walked paths. But the former, you gravitate more to, wish for it to fill your nose and remain with you long after your visit.

Adjusting the strap of your bag, you glance about again, almost fidgeting your feet in your shoes, before it dawns on you. Slams into you as you flick your gaze from sign to sign—

You haven’t got a clue about where to start.

Listing the things from memory—suddenly distant and difficult to find amongst the dooming overwhelm—as your feet begin moving of their own accord. Choosing an aisle, selecting it—all eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

Because better that, than standing aimless, lost. Watched on some flickering CCTV in the back where you assume the person who works here is.

Dragging your eyes, scanning them up and down, taking in the varying types of paint brushes, different thicknesses, different intentions. Moving from single purchase to grouped, to multi-packs, and landing finally on rollers before you’re turning, heading down an entirely different aisle.

The next isn’t any less overwhelming.

If anything, it’s more, because it’s at least more of what you needed.

Screws, bolts, fixings.

Your brain assessing, attempting to assemble whether a bolt is what you need, a screw or—

“You need a hand?”

It throws you off, the voice.

Cuts through your processing, through the low replays of the video (the ones only in your head) and the cracking radio which has moved into an advert for migraines.

It’s low, a slight gravel that he rids with a clear of his throat as you look over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the owner of the voice, eventually turning to face him.

And fuck.

He’s broad, dressed in a deep green t-shirt under a tan apron—name badge scratched over, only leaving the lingering marks of a “here to help” and the fading logo you’d seen outside.

You don’t mean to gawk, but yet you do all the same.

Practically swallowing, attempting to whir your brain into gear as you take in the rest of him. The thick loose curls atop his head, the strong nose and the round-brown eyes. His moustache, the wiry facial hair across his chin he slowly begins to scrape at, as he remains waiting for a response.

“Screws.”

“You… you need screws?”

Nodding, you will your brain to work, to function. But, he’s just so—

Lifting his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, waiting, waiting, until he smiles. “Do you know the kind?”

Think. Think. Fucking think.

And then you do. Somehow able to unspool some thoughts, find sentences. Beginning to explain, in barely-there pauses and animated hand gestures about your move, and your new lease of life, and this video you found and how you felt inspired by it to the point it had led you to order wood cut to size and tools from the internet, but screws, screws and this and that are all that you’d forgotten.

And, he listens. Sliding a hand over the sleeve of his sun-scorched tee as he does. Just nodding on occasion. Thin lines appear along his forehead at certain parts of the story, but nonetheless listening.

“Show me.”

“Show… you?”

Then he smiles. Soft, it slides up in a slow, almost cautious way, but then it’s at his eyes, touching, brushing itself there and sending sparks up into the darker brown flecks.

Licking his lips, he gestures, “The video.”

You do.

A quick shuffle in your pocket, a slide to unlock your phone and then your fingers are brushing his. They’re warm, his. That you can tell.

Heat radiating from them, slowly blanketing yours as his hand and yours cradle the phone like a newborn in an announcement photo.

From there, your chest tightens, more so when you meet his eyes, finding them watching you as intently as you wish to look at him, and it makes your heart stammer, skip—a full chaos of beats following before he’s holding your phone independently.

That’s when a new crisis calls. A new thought is all set to erode your mind.

Because your phone looks tiny in his hand.

The plastic case is almost dwarfed by him as he tips his chin, watching the video, occasionally tapping at the screen to skip ahead before he nods to himself, you all but busy trying not to choke on your own drool.

“I know what you need.”

“You do?”

A foolish question, all escaping without thought or rationale.

He just smiles, in a way that seems to settle your incoming anxiousness.

“I do.”

And he does.

A tilt of his head, his back turned to you, a brief thought crossing your brain at the sight but you quickly rid, and you’re following. Listening as he explains, as he points out things with his long, thick finger, as you nod, as though nothing lives in the space between both of your ears.

It isn’t until you’re back in your car that it hits you. Do you suddenly wish as your engine ignites and your car roars to life, that you had asked for his number—or better yet, his name.

It’s been days, and you’re still wondering if some part of you’d concocted him, made him up—thrown up an illusion of a man and exaggerated how good he looked.

The more you thought about him, the more insane it got. Even hearing yourself explain it to a friend made you question if you'd been dreaming. That maybe you’d let days mould him, shaping perfection in your consciousness.

It has more weight when you walk past the older man at the till, all white hair in a slick-back style and who tips his head and looks more what you’d expect from the decor of the place.

But a part, one fighting, scrapping for a moment to exist, still believes. Hopes.

Forcing your legs to wander down aisles you don’t need, pausing at each corner, desiring to be proven wrong. Hovering, hoping—half-wondering if it was essential that to make him appear, you had to look lost and hopeless—or whether that had just been a coincidence that first time.

With each up and down, you almost give up. Hope almost gone, erasing itself with each step, all but fading.

But there, in the centre of the paint aisle, speckled in dried flecks, it clinging in varying shades—a kaleidoscope dream on his jeans and worn t-shirt—is him. The man you haven't stopped thinking about.

"It's you."

"It's me," you grin, heat flooding your cheeks, growing up into your neck.

Arm lifting, hand brushing the back of his curls not housed in a cap, as he matches your grin. "New project?"

"Something like that."

His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lessen, not as his grin slopes into a shy smile, before he wipes his hand on his jeans, offering it out. "Realised... I never... I'm Frankie, by the way."

You hand him your name, dropping an octave as you do—all unmeaning, entirely accidental—fingers sliding past his as you shake his hand.

“I don’t… you’ve not got your apron on.”

Glancing down, you find him grinning when he looks up, “Not my day today. Here on personal business.”

“Oh is…” squinting at the paint can in his hand, “Butterscotch Orange on a hit list or something?”

His lips slide into his cheek, a tooth-filled smirk. “Should be, it’s a right bitc—pain in the ass to sell.”

Rolling your lips, you trace your tongue across your teeth as you grin. “It’s no…” eyes squinting. “Mt Rainier Grey.”

His brow arches. “That your shade of choice?”

“I like it—don’t hate the orange though. So, maybe it’s not the paint, but the seller.”

Something twinkles in his eye, lips still cocked to one side, smirk still ever-present.

And it’s a challenge to drag your eyes to look at the floor, you shift your weight. Trying, and failing, to think of an excuse, to leave before it gets weird—before you become too much and ruin this nondescript thing. But, his throat clearing stops you. It forces your chin up. Barely just able to catch it, the whisper, how it’s almost said to the can in his hand than to you.

“You… doing anything right now?”

Shaking your head slowly, you bite your cheek as you grin. “Just talking to a man holding a paint can.”

Tapping his fingers along the top, lips rolling, “You fancy getting a coffee? With me?”

You have to bite your smile, out of fear you’ll show how practically beaming you are. Mouth opening, but he adds an addition of I don’t usually do this that makes your lips curl into a smirk.

“What? Invite random customers for coffee or accost them with paint you can’t sell?”

Biting his upper lip, he shakes his head, tucking a curl behind his ear as your eyes glance over at them. How they glisten under the yellow-fluorescent light.

Letting your heart dance like leaves in the wind. “I’d love to get coffee with you, Frankie.”

It’s nice, the coffee place.

Not a far walk, a few doors down. The charm of it coaxes you in with sounds of crunching beans and strong scents of varying levels of caffeine sliding over and relaxing your shoulders from your ears.

Because suddenly you’re nervous.

A slight shake to your bones, a twitch of your fingers.

“Let me get this.”

Smiling, you find him watching you, not caring to drag his eyes away when you catch him.

“Because you never do this or because you’re hoping to persuade me to buy your unsellable paint?”

Smirking, he traces his eyes over you, “Both.”

The corner of his mouth slides back into his cheek, a dimple appearing, deepening—one you want to brush over with your thumb the longer he keeps looking at you the way he does.

All dark eyes, beedy, but sparkling.

'Who's next?' breaks the spell. Shatters the magic. It forces you both to blink, to focus on the task at hand. Both orders said, whirring and crunching sounding as you admire the place, glaze over the menu until he’s nudging you.

With your order in hand and tucked away in the corner—the large window letting in light and warmth from the sun on your back—you try not to moan at the taste of your drink once it hits your tongue.

Because it’s good. Brilliant, practically everything.

To the point you have to bite back a thank you, one that you feel would be never-ending, a constant swirl of words landing on the circular table between the two of you. Nothing napkins and good conversation could soak up.

Because good coffee is always great, but knowing where to find it in an unknown place is something else.

Distantly, you hear him say your name, chin dipped, eyes focused, realising—in a flood of embarrassment—he’s been talking to you.

“Sorry?”

“I said, I’ve not seen you in the store before…”

Swallowing, you take a steadying breath.

“You don’t have to…”

But, you do all the same. You pour open small bits of truth, words falling, tumbling half-strung together as your history rolls out in a timeline in front of you both. How you’d bought a new place, that it’s a bit run down, seen better days—a determination to prove friends wrong by doing it yourself.

Foolish, you comment with a shake of your head, I know fuck all about decorating.

And he listens—to the fact you’re alone, not even a pet; he listens even as you talk about your work, all boring, not entirely interesting. The two of you simply lost in one another, surrounded by coffee mug swirls and the sounds of sizzling food, coffee shop noises and mumbling daytime talk as you ask him about work, about his love for orange shades.

And your eyes glance down at his phone, how it’s turned over—his all undivided attention given to you—yet your eyes linger on the phone case. The one with a drawing, likely in pencil, a man in a hat on a hill, a child next to him and a sun with a smile on its face.

“I… I have a kid. Luca—shared custody,” he says, nodding, tongue peeking out between his teeth, hands leaving the table and wiping back on his jeans in slow slides up and down. “He… he made it me.”

It’s the grin that makes your heart swell.

Makes your hand cup your mug a little tighter so you don’t offer it out to him to hold, a thing which feels so natural, no thought required. Except you don’t know his last name—barely know a thing about him.

Yet, your body practically leans forward as you mirror the smile—all soft, as another piece of a missing puzzle sliding into place.

“Does he like drawing?”

Laughing, his palm slides along his jaw. “Loves it.”

“How old?”

“Five—does that… does that bother you?”

“That you’re a dad?” He nods, and you lick your lips, you make sure to hold his gaze. “Not in the slightest.”

You smile, watching him mirror you this time. It rushes out, kissing across every bit of his face—a shyness soon fluttering over him before he clears his throat.

“So, you freelance? You like being your own boss?”

“Not especially, but it does mean I can work at night.”

Nodding, he slides his hand around the white porcelain, hand practically dwarfing the mug. It makes you want to ask him to hold things, to see if IKEA pencils or children’s eating utensils look more ridiculous than your iPhone and a regular coffee mug.

“Prefer the night?”

“I prefer the quiet of it... to think. It’s why… why I began trying to do something in the day, needed to still be busy.”

“Sitting still not an option, Rainier Gray?”

Shrugging, you smile. “Says you Butterscotch and your three tins of unsellable paint in the bed of your truck.”

“You got me there.”

“I just… like to be busy, and with the new house, no partner—commitments, I thought why not try a bit of DIY.”

Nodding, he lifts his mug, and takes a sip—eyes remaining fixed on you as he does, as though it buys him time, lets him think up an opinion, an assessment. It makes your skin warm, but for all the uncomfortable reasons, the panicking ones—parts of you beginning to catastrophise that you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Open up your Instagram.”

You stare, blinking.

“Trust me.”

And you do. With another fumble, another slide of your phone screen open, and you follow his instructions as you type in the spelling he gives you. When you click the page, it’s hard not to grin, to not have your face explode into a smile so large it cuts into your cheeks.

“I don’t like to sit still either,” Frankie adds, as though the thousand photos and videos, the tutorials and follower count don’t say that on their own.

You’ve fallen down a hole—willingly.

It cracked open the moment you’d sat on your couch, drink in hand, blanket half over your body.

The moment you’d begun your scroll, you discovered you couldn’t stop. Starting with the latest and moving back, until you realise you’d rather see the story in the way it happened.

Choosing a moment, almost nine months ago, before you work your way forward to the present.

You were cautious, more careful than needed, to not like anything too late—to not give away how deep into his page you’d gone. Even if you were in awe, a little proud—your cheeks a little warm and lips turned up into your cheek—as you saw in real-time his confidence grow. The way he’d look at the camera, began experimenting with angles, all in all being smoother, more happy.

You suppose that’s why you type a comment under one picture:

Is that butterscotch orange in the flesh? 🟠

Stalking me are you?

Getting some tips from Mr DIY himself.

I know you went back some months, Rainy.

How do you know that?

Because as soon as you commented that’s what I did. You looked nice at the beach.

Now who’s the stalker, Butterscotch.

Me. Clearly. I’m being very upfront about it.

Out of interest, do you tutor at all? Gives hands on help to beginner DIYers?

You genuinely asking or flirting?

Big-headed much?

I can help you with something if you need it.

I think I do.

Then I’m yours. Don’t worry, I promise to only snoop in your drawers when left alone.

Think we should get food first, show you what I’m thinking—make sure you’re up to the task.

You asking me on a date?

No. But if you keep showing off tools topless I’ll be tempted to ask you.

Knew you’d gone back further than a month.

BONUS GRAPHIC FOR CHAPTER - COMING 9TH FEB

NEXT CHAPTER -> COMING 20TH FEB

an: you do not understand how giddy i am about this series. the chapters have flown out of me. i hope you enjoy it half as much as i'm enjoying writing it. see you soon xx

[cowgurrrl]

Sweet Creature

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic Ellie Williams x fem!reader)

Author’s note: holy shit thank you for your ideas this is my favorite. also i put it in the tags of darlin’ i’d wait for you BUT there is a beautiful easter egg in the baby’s first and middle name and the first person to tell me what it is gets a kiss on the mouth

Summary: “Helping one another is part of the religion of our sisterhood.” - Jo March, Little Women aka Ellie rescues you and Joel [1.3k]

Warnings: newborn DRAMA, post-partum anxiety if you squint, Joel being a softie for his daughters

"C'mon, Charlie girl, you've gotta help us out." You mumble as you bounce your crying baby around the room. It's been an hour of her crying nonstop, and you've tried everything. Nursing, changing her diaper, changing her clothes, burping, changing the room's temperature, and playing music. You even went as far as to check her for any injuries that you may have missed. You're not sure what kind of trouble your one-week-old could've gotten into to warrant an injury, but you're exhausted, and it seemed to make sense. 

Joel woke up with her first, as he has done every night since you gave birth, so you had the chance to get some rest. Recovery has been rough for you, and he's already doing so much for you. He and Ellie barely let you get out of bed most days because they want to ensure you take the time to heal. Even though the thought is nice, you wake up and listen when Joel gets up with her every time. It's not that you don't trust him. It's that you're already the world's lightest sleeper, and Joel is deaf in one ear and is rarely aware of just how loud he is. You also don't mind secretly watching as he lays her on his bare chest in the low light of your room, singing to her or explaining what he's doing for her to engage her little brain. He's caught you staring at least twice since she's come home. 

But tonight was different. She woke up crying and was pretty much inconsolable until Joel brought her over to you. She nursed for a minute or two before wrenching away from you and screaming. Since then, you and Joel have been taking turns trying to get her to go back to sleep. It's hard having a newborn with two capable parents. You have no idea how you had a baby as a single mom. 

"D'you wanna try to feed her again?" Joel asks as he stands next to you, disheveled and overwhelmed but trying his best to comfort the both of you. 

"I don't know," you shake your head, your throat starting to feel like sandpaper. You were always the more emotional person in your relationship, but postpartum emotions are nothing compared to your regular ones. "I don't know what's wrong." You cry. Joel touches your back and makes a sympathetic noise as tears fall down your face.

"Let me take her for a little bit so you can sit down, okay?" He suggests as he carefully takes Charlie from you. She chuffs at the transition before going right back to screaming her head off. You sit on the edge of the bed and watch as he holds her like a football and hums what sounds like Hank Williams to her. You'd be surprised if she could even hear him over her own crying, and you take a deep breath, racking your brain for what could be wrong. 

"What are you doing to her?" Ellie asks as she walks into the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She's wearing one of Joel's shirts and hand-me-down shorts from Maria, and her hair is as messy as Joel's. If you weren't still crying, you think you'd probably laugh. 

"She's just a little fussy. You can go back to bed." Joel says, but she shakes her head and walks over to where he's standing with Charlie. 

"What's going on, bug? Huh?" She asks, crouching to look at Charlie's tired, sad eyes. She may have your eye shape, but she got those heartbreaking brown eyes from Joel. When she cries like this, they look like the saddest puppy dog eyes in the world. "D'you want me to try?" Ellie asks, and Joel shoots you a look.

You've been very intentional about not putting too much pressure on Ellie to help with the baby. She's sixteen, and she shouldn't have to be burdened with that if she doesn't have to be. You told her she could help as much or as little as she wanted, but she took it upon herself to help more often than not. You just didn't want her to wake up for midnight cry sessions or feel like she had to be put in a parenting position. She's still a kid.

"It's worth a shot," Joel says, and you shrug, way too tired to argue with him. He carefully passes Charlie to Ellie, who cradles her close and pushes her hair out of her face. Joel stays nearby in case she decides to hand the baby off, but he doesn't intrude on their moment.

"Hey, it's alright. You let it all out," Ellie says as she sways. Her fingers muss Charlie's hair, and she's quieting down. Not a lot, but enough to see it as crying instead of blood-curdling screaming. "I've got you, sweet girl." Ellie's hand moves to her chest, gently scratching and rubbing little circles into Charlie's onesie, and like magic, she stops crying. She turns her little head toward Ellie and yawns big and long like we kept her up. You sigh in relief and tip your head up to the ceiling as silence fills the room. Your ears are still ringing, and your body hurts, but it's quiet. 

It would be easy to claim that Charlie calmed down because Ellie's wearing one of Joel's worn shirts or that she just finally hit a wall and fell asleep, but you like to think she was just missing her sister. Joel looks between Ellie and Charlie in disbelief, mumbling "shit" under his breath. "What can I say? She loves me." She shrugs, and you quietly laugh as she walks over to the rocking chair in the corner and curls up with Charlie. She snags the yellow blanket one of the older women in town knitted for you off the back of the chair and drapes it around them. You would think they've known each other for centuries. 

Joel is still standing in the middle of the room, his curls a mess on top of his head, as his sleep-deprived brain tries to piece together what happened. He scratches at his stubbly jaw and shakes his head as he thinks. "You don't have to stay up with her. I can put her back in the crib." Joel offers, and you watch her hold on Charlie get a little tighter.

"It's gonna take me a long time to fall asleep. You guys should get some rest. I've got her," Ellie says, a smile pulling at her lips. "Besides, I like hanging out with her." You would cry again if you had the energy, but you don't. Instead, you crawl back into bed and get comfortable. Joel looks to you for confirmation, always looking for your approval as the mother of his child before making any decisions, but you're already half-asleep again.

"If she's volunteering, I'm not gonna stop her," you mumble into your pillow. "Just don't fall asleep."

"Sir, yes, sir," Ellie says. They may have stayed up talking. You're not sure, but when you wake up, Ellie is between you and Joel in bed, and Charlie is in her crib. She's tucked under the arm Joel is using to hold your waist as he sleeps, and her hand is on his chest. He's snoring lightly as he holds you both, perfectly content to cuddle with his girls in bed. You smile and kiss each of their heads before falling asleep again.

You vaguely remember fearing how the new baby would affect Joel and Ellie's relationship and worrying if Ellie and the baby would get along. You don't know exactly why Charlie was crying last night or why she calmed down so fast once Ellie had her, and you don't need to. 

Sometimes a girl just needs her sister. 

Sometimes a father just needs to baby his sixteen-year-old a little longer.

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taglist: @evyiione @nyotamalfoy @abbyhaslongshorts​

[urauntiefaye]

Faye sis, my brain sometimes lacks sanity💀 And I can't prevent it (please help me)༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ || You know I now have a hard scenario since the morning that sometimes makes me confused with my dirty thoughts🤺 || The scenario is about my Jo again of course (I have a hard time getting it out of my brain compared to getting my brain out of the scenario about Taesan or myungjae)🫠

That scenario "This started when I saw his uniform, hairstyle and facial expressions on the red carpet at AAA 2023. My brain keeps thinking he is part of the school's popular basketball circle. Seeing him in a uniform like that and his hairstyle like that would definitely make the girls go weak in the knees for him. Yeah, I imagine I'm his enemy who secretly loves him, and always gets 'burnt' if I see him flirting with other girls. Like 'bro, you should be mine!'. I often 'touched' myself in his locker room when school was really quiet (All the students have gone home). I did that out of desperation because he and I were enemies who often hurled curses at each other. And one day he caught me touching myself while crying because I was really on the verge of breaking down because he didn't know how I felt at all. I moaned his name quite loudly and didn't realize that he was watching me. When I climaxed on my fingers, he would catch me with a mocking face and then give a little humilation. Still with him wearing a uniform like at AAA but it's a bit messy, he would probably squat in front of me with a mocking face, saying that 'Shit, it turns out my own enemy needs me. Pathetic'. But he held my finger, which was still wet from my own 'doing', then sucked it. Tasting me in his mouth💀. That would be a sexy and hot sight.😵‍💫 Bro, he will make me his 'toy' right then and there and confess his love when he climaxes inside me. After finishing, I would think he would take off his accessories he was wearing (such as bracelets and necklaces), then put them on me who was still panting🤭. He would say "My darling beautiful girl". I can't imagine what will happen tomorrow after he claims me brutally, even though he and I are enemies before. When I entered the cafeteria, he wouldn't let me sit on the bench, but on his lap🌚. Making his fans shocked and jealous because they didn't expect Jo to choose his 'enemy' as hisprincess."

I hope these hard thoughts don't enter my dreams, because if they enter my dreams while sleeping, when I wake up I will cry because it's not real😭😭😭😭😭

I really need psychological help because my brain is thinking crazy things constantly👀

XANDRA IVE FUCKING MISSED YOU AND YOURE BEAUTIFUL BRAINS *kisses your brain*, how've you beeeeen?

But nooo reading this has DONE THINGS to me, you don't understand. You can't just drop this off because what if it enters MY dreams huh!?

I love the idea of him calling you "My Beautiful Darling" please this mans

Jo

I love you 🥺, I need more of your beautiful thoughts

[general-sleepy]

[Video Description: A scene from Sherlock Holmes and The Woman in Green with riffing by Mary Jo Pehl and Bridget Nelson.

Moriarty (Henry Daniell) enters Holmes' rooms, while Holmes (Basil Rathbone) plays the violin.

Mary Jo: I'm here on behalf of the whole building to smash your violin.

Holmes looks over his shoulder, stops playing, then stands.

Bridget: *laughing nervously* Sorry, I'm a little nervous. I've never done this Tinder thing before.

Holmes: Oh, Professor Moriarty. Not that I wish to appear inquisitive, but to what am I indebted for the pleasure of this visit? Scotland Yard will be interested.

They walk together.

Mary Jo: *speaking over Moriarty* They didn't appreciate the flaming bag of dog poo you left them.

Moriarty: …think that I am dead in Montevideo. I never dreamed of fooling you.

Holmes: Thank you.

Moriarty: The thought occurs to me, Mr. Holmes…

Bridget: *speaking over Moriarty* That perhaps I've pulled my pants up too high.

(His pants are pulled up extremely high).

Moriarty: You are very comfortably fixed here, aren't you? *inhales* As I…

Mary Jo: *speaking over Moriarty* I feel like he's working up to selling him Whole Life or something.

Holmes: Oh, I beg your pardon. Won't you sit down?

Moriarty: *in a weirdly robotic tone* Thank you.

Bridget: *mimicking his voice* I, a normal, casual human, would many enjoy to sitting now.

They sit in armchairs facing each other.

Mary Jo: Uh, like this? Am I doing it right?

Holmes: Mr. Moriarty, what can I do for you?

Moriarty: Everything that I have to say to you has already crossed your mind.

Holmes: And my answer has no doubt crossed yours.

Moriarty: That's final?

Holmes: What do you think?

Bridget: Well, I think we're broken up!

Holmes: I shall not rest until you are hanged for the finger murders.

(Mary Jo gasps)

Moriarty: You've no proof, you know.

He uses his walking stick to part the curtains and look out a window. Holmes watches him.

Holmes: No, not a shred.

Mary Jo: *speaking over Moriarty* But I've been saying my daily affirmations and believe in myself more than ever!

Moriarty: You could. If you did, you'd never see Dr. Watson again.

Bridget: *delighted* Really?! That'd be awesome!

Mary Jo: Yeah, no downside.

Holmes: I rather assumed you had taken some such precaution. *stands up*Or, I should have snatched up a revolver and indulged in a fit of heroics when you came in.

Moriarty: Very smart, aren't you?

He stands up.

Mary Jo: *speaking over Holmes* Sick of being judged by my big brain and not my beautiful butt.

Holmes: ...I should have anticipated you. But! If any harm comes to Dr. Watson, I shall seek you out.

Bridget: He's like a blind, helpless kitten, you know that.

Moriarty: No harm will come to Dr. Watson this time. But I can't answer for the future. Mr. Holmes, I should strongly advise you to drop this case.

Holmes: Don't be silly.

Moriarty: Think it over.

Mary Jo: *speaking over Moriarty* There's a Massage Envy gift certificate in it for you.

Moriarty: You hope to place me on the gallows. I tell you I shall never stand upon the gallows. But! If you are instrumental in any way in bringing about my destruction…

Bridget: *speaking over Moriarty* Oh, you're gonna get such a pinch!

Moriarty: …Your satisfaction.

They walk towards the door.

Holmes: Then we shall walk together through the gates of eternity, hand-in-hand.

Mary Jo: *breathless* Oh!

Moriarty: What a charming picture that would make.

Holmes: Yes, wouldn't it? You know, I really think it might be worth it.

Moriarty leaves.

Mary Jo: Ooh, now that is weapons-grade flirting, right there!

(Bridget laughs)

End Description]

[abibliophobiaa]

-

Okay, first part of my review is my live reactions to everything because I know I’m gonna eat this one up: 

First of all, oof with the - "I just played that shit up so my friends don't get beaten up by meathead jocks like you." I don’t know why, but that one hit me so hard. Eddie is such a love and it shows. 

I don’t know why but I am cackling at Eddie telling Steve he took his girlfriend on a date. Also love that Eddie had a better date planned for Steve’s girlfriend than Steve did himself. Serves him right for being an idiot. 

Eddie feeding the raccoons. Help me I am yearning, Jo, YEARNING.

Steve insulting Eddie in front of the kids? That ish HURTED. And them being hurt by it? Saying it’s “not easy being Eddie.” But then Steve’s inner monologue? I know we may not all be the biggest Steve fans, but I do sympathize with him in that the guy has had it rough, too. I think people often assume money = happiness, but I don’t think that’s the case, or ever has been the case, with Steve. So, yes, got a little emotional here. Not gonna lie. 

I love getting the kids involved. They’re so stinking adorable trying to help both of the guys. However, I feel like they’re both gonna need a LOT of help trying to see one another through the other’s eyes. We have an uphill battle on our hands here, haha. 

Eddie dreaming about R? That also kind of hurted. The “he could have it…he could have you…” and the “You pulled away momentarily and stared up into his eyes, yours glassy with want and adoration, something that he only ever hoped you would look at him with.” Ow. 

I love the boys trying to live each other’s lives. I love Steve trying to be Eddie on stage. This has me smiling like a doofus. Again, I love that we are getting to see them try and live as one another. The empathy that I hope they can build toward one another. Agh.

Uhm…so Eddie’s rationale about keeping up the facade as Steve dating R has me a little nervous. I do not feel like it will be as easy as him “picking up the pieces.” I’m now a little nervous, Jo. JO—HELP ME, I’M SCARED.

Why…is Steve mad at his mom?

R noticing something is odd. Hahah. I love that for her. Little confusion. I also love her little internal struggle here. We have feelings for two boys—but it’s actually the same boy. Woof. Try explaining that one to anyone else. Haha.

Oof. The “You’re not what I expected Steve Harrington to be like.” THAT’S BECAUSE IT’S YOUR EDDIE GIRLIE. Uh oh…the tobacco underneath “Steve’s smell.” I am intrigued how this is all going to pan out. Does she know? What is going on here? 

Uhm. Uh oh. Her telling Eddie who is really Steve she likes him. “You’re a really good friend.” ACKKKKK NO.

The Eddie solo scene. It was fun, all nice and dandy, until it HURT ME AGAIN. JO, WHY YOU HURT ME SO? The “but as his pleasure evaded him and all the sad thoughts returned, he simply couldn’t escape the simple pact that his honey didn’t want him…she wanted someone else.” And I wanna cry.

UHM. THE ENDING. I’M DONE. I’M DEAD. I AM WAILING. 

- 

Jo, this was such a wonderful chapter, so beautifully written. This story is literally going to be the death of me. It’s my kryptonite. I’m in love. I am writhing on the floor wanting to cry. I am at a loss for words. The impact of that final line. It’s going to haunt my days until the next update. You’re wonderful, so big brained and beautiful, and I SIMPLY ADORE YOU!! <3

Freaky Friday - A Stranger Things Story (Part 3)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - 4 - 5

Word Count: 12.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Eddie and Steve (Enemies to Friends)

Summary: Eddie thinks that Steve has everything in life handed to him on a silver platter (including his new girlfriend who Eddie has a crush on). And Steve just can't believe that the kids look up to Eddie the Freak, or that he lives his life without giving a single fuck.

Must be nice. But you know what they say, the grass is always greener.

Warnings/Themes: AU with no Upside Down. Angst, body swapping, dark magic/alchemy, unrequited love, mutual pining, fatphobia (if you squint?), Babysitter Steve, unresolved feelings, manipulation/deception, Things That Require Communication (Too Bad There Isn't Any), Reader gets a nickname (Honey), no Y/N if I can help it, Masturbation, Fantasies/Wet Dreams, To Quote JQ "There Do Be Willies"

Note: Guys...ok I tried I really did. First off once again thanks to @ghost-proofbaby, @big-ope-vibes and @trashmouth-richie for being my sounding boards for some things in this chapter. And then because they have been SO amazing with their writing and their big-brainedness, this chapter is dedicated to @myosotisa and @blue-mossbird.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Before Eddie could react at all to Steve's appearance, Steve had launched himself off the bed, crossed the room, and pinned Eddie against the wall with an arm across his neck. The pressure was uncomfortable, but not enough to keep him from breathing or talking.

"How did you get in here?" Eddie questioned.

"It's my fucking house, Freak," Steve spat. "I know where the spare key is. Now, what the fuck did you do to me? To us. How the fuck did you do this?"

"Listen pal," Eddie grunted, trying to shove Steve off of him. Eddie wondered, fleetingly as he stared into his own rage-filled eyes, if he was actually that strong, or if it was just because Steve had better control of his strength. "I don't know what you think I could have done, but I was just as surprised as I'm sure you were when I woke up here this morning. In your fucking body."

"That's bullshit. You did this," Steve insisted. "You...did some satanic ritual—"

"Are you stupid? It's all a joke man," Eddie began. "I don't worship Satan, Hellfire's not a cult."

"Fuck you, you and your devil horns and latin chants during lunc—"

"I just played that shit up so my friends don't get beaten up by meathead jocks like you."

Fed up with being pushed around and accused Eddie went slack against the wall for a second, causing Steve's footing to falter, and with that he threw his whole weight against Steve, causing him to tumble back onto the floor. Eddie knelt over him, gritting his teeth, and fisted the front of his shirt.

"You think if I had some kind of say in my life, some kind of power to change it, I would still be stuck in a shithole like Hawkins?" Eddie sneered. "Stuck in that trailer, stuck being a student at Hawkins high for another day?"

"Except you're not stuck anymore," Steve retorted. "I am."

"Y-you think I would want to be stuck like this instead?" Eddie huffed. "King fucking Steve Harrington. Who has it all handed to him. What kind of life is that?"

"You didn't seem too miserable a few seconds ago," Steve pointed out.

Eddie let go of Steve and he dropped slightly, head bouncing slightly off the plush area rug.

Fucking Harrington can't even have hard enough floors to hurt.

Eddie stood to his full height and looked around the bedroom again—at Steve's desk and his lovingly filled-out calendar, at the plush bed, at the window that overlooked a swimming pool for fuck's sake—and wondered how fair it was that Steve could have anything he ever wanted, but never did.

What would you like me to say to that Steve? That you're right? That I would want your life? That you're an idiot and you don't deserve any of this? That I do instead?

"Where were you just now anyway?" Steve continued as he watched Eddie cross over to the window. "Take my car for a joyride or something? While I'm driving around your rusty old shitbox? Or...or—"

"Took your girl out for a date," Eddie interrupted and glanced back at Steve over his shoulder. "Or did you forget about her?"

"My gir—" Steve paused. "Do you mean...You took her out on our date?"

"I went through the motions today," Eddie explained. "Wake up in someone else's body, go to work at their job, take their girlfriend on the date they had planned."

"For someone who seems to have no idea how this happened," Steve grunted as he pushed himself off the floor. "You seem to know how to handle a situation like this pretty perfectly."

"How do you think I should have handled it? Driving around town screaming about spells and magic?"

Steve had the sense to look ashamed for a minute and Eddie smirked.

"What did you do today then, eh 'Eddie?'"

"I...I went to school," Steve started.

"Sounds like going through the motions to me."

"I went to find Henderson!"

"Wait a minute," Eddie turned to face Steve fully. "You told Henderson?"

"Yeah," Steve shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? He's part of your little band of misfits. Figured he might know some...counter spell and get me back in my body."

Eddie groaned and put his face in his hands.

Great, Dustin was going to actually think Eddie was the devil now.

"Did you tell anyone?" Steve asked dumbly.

"No because I'm not an absolute idiot," Eddie exclaimed, throwing his hands out. "Fuck, no wonder Buckley calls you a dingus."

"Well lah-di-dah, I'm sorry I don't have the mystical body switching handbook memorized like you do" Steve snarked and fell onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to hug to his body for comfort. "What would that even look like? A...a...pentagram with 'shut the fuck up' written in the middle in latin or something?"

Eddie froze.

A mystical body switching handbook.

A pentagram.

Or maybe a sigil?

"God, I can't even believe you went on my date for me. Did you even...how did you know I had reservations at the Club? Wait, is that what you wore? Jesus Ch—”

"Shut up!" Eddie interrupted. "Go back, what did you just say?"

"Uh....The Club?" Steve asked. "The...Country Club up in Marion? My dad plays golf there."

"No before that, you said—" Eddie stopped. "Wait, you were gonna take her for dinner at the Golf Club? Kind of a douche move there, Harrington. Even for you."

"Well where did you take her then?"

"Doesn't matter," Eddie dismissed, smugly filing away the fact that his idea for a date was better than Steve's. Country Club. "You said...a pentagram."

"Yeah? What about it?" Steve asked. When Eddie hesitated to answer, Steve grew concerned. "Please don't tell me you drew a pentagram and asked for...I don't know, better hair or something and now we're stuck like this."

Eddie ignored the dig at his hair.

"Not...exactly."

"Oh!" Mrs. Henderson looked surprised when she opened the door to find both "Steve" and "Eddie" on her doorstep. "What a surprise!"

"Hey, Mrs. H," "Steve" greeted with a smile, causing "Eddie" to roll his eyes. "Is Dustin here?"

"He is. With Will and Lucas. Since someone decided to cancel Hellfire Club," she glared at "Eddie" good-naturedly. "I can go get him for you; come on in. Did you boys have dinner? You hungry? I have plenty of leftover tater tot casserole."

"No thank you," they answered in tandem and crossed through into the living room and took a seat on the couch.

As she made her way back towards Dustin's room, the boys started to bicker.

"Why would you cancel Hellfire? I never cancel. Even when I'm sick."

"I’m sorry was this not a pressing matter? Your little club can’t skip one week?”

Mews jumped up and settled in "Eddie's" lap and Steve froze as she began purring.

Mews was never really a fan of Steve's to begin with, the few times Steve had come over to spend time with Dustin and the kids. It was mutual indifference, actually. She mostly stayed cuddled up in Mrs. Henderson's arms, but when she wasn't they gave one another distance. Steve had no interest in getting near the cat, and the cat had no interest in getting near Steve.

So for her to be comfortable and purring in "Eddie's" lap...it made Steve a little nervous. What if she bit him or clawed him or—

"Well, aren't you gonna give her pets Harrington?" Eddie reached over and started scratching between her ears.

"Uh...I'm not an animal person," Steve explained and Eddie gave him a dull look. "What if it scratches me?"

"Are you kidding?" Eddie scoffed. "First, she's literally the cuddliest cat in the world. Second, she's a she, not an it. And third, if she scratches you, technically she'd scratch me and I've already been scratched several times when I fed the baby raccoons at Forest Hills."

"The—Why are you feeding raccoons?" Steve exclaimed. "They're wild animals, they're feral."

"They're babies, they shouldn't be eating trash. Which reminds me, as long as we're stuck like this, you need to leave a can or two of tuna out for the stray cats once in a while."

Steve watched Eddie for a moment, waiting for the laughter to start or a punchline to come out of his mouth. And it never did.

"What is wrong with yo—"

"Eddie! Steve!" the boys jumped at Dustin and his mother's appearance. Dustin had wide eyes and a strained smile. "What a surprise! Eddie, how was detention?"

Eddie turned back to look at Steve with raised eyebrows and a manic grin.

"Detention?" Eddie asked. "When did this happen?"

"I was late to class. You know, like I am every day." Steve answered, taking a cheap dig at Eddie for putting him on the spot.

"Anyway!" Dustin began loudly. "Why don't you guys come on back. And we can discuss that surprise campaign for Mike's birthday."

Eddie picked Mews off Steve's lap and handed her back to Mrs. Henderson with another last little chin scratch, and then he and Steve followed Dustin back to his room where, indeed, Lucas and Will were waiting.

"Alright dweebs, get lost," Steve announced.

"No way, we're not leaving until we figure this whole body switching thing out," Lucas scoffed.

"You told them too?" Eddie turned to Steve and Steve held his hands up defensively.

"No," Dustin interjected. "I did. I needed Will the Wise's brain and Sinclair the Soldier's tenacity if I was gonna solve this."

"What about Wheeler?" Eddie asked.

The boys sheepishly looked at one another.

"Mike's not exactly the best at keeping secrets," Will began hesitantly. "And if Nancy found out...well..."

"And we do actually need to come up with some kind of surprise for his birthday," Lucas continued. "A quest to reverse a curse on two knights sounds pretty epic."

They all looked to Eddie for his input.

"Could be interesting," Eddie hummed and tilted his head back and forth in contemplation. "I might be inclined to give it a DM stamp of approval if we can actually figure this thing out."

The kids all cheered and started talking over one another, saying that they went to the Hawkins Public Library after school since Hellfire was canceled. They gathered several fantasy books and a folklore book, and when they asked about occultism at the reference desk, there was one book that had recently been checked out.

"Funny you should mention that," Steve piped up and pulled the faded red book out from where it was tucked into Eddie's jacket. "Eddie and I nearly tore apart his trailer trying to find it.

And they had.

After Eddie had dropped the news that he, indeed, might have been the cause of this switch—unintentionally—he and Steve headed to Forest Hills to find the book.

Steve honestly felt a little vindicated that it actually was Eddie who had done this to the two of them, but...he admitted that he might have let all of the mania about Eddie and Hellfire Club fuel his anger.

But as he stood off to the side and watched the boys flip through the pages with Eddie as Eddie regaled them with his campaign ideas and the sigil that had caught his eye, Steve couldn't help but feel that bitter vile jealousy begin to bubble up again.

How long ago was it that he was taking them to the junkyard to ride their bikes and find scraps and bits and pieces for them to use for their...LORPing...LARPing...

And it was fun, yeah, watching the little idiots get excited over hunks of discarded pipes they could use as staffs, and bent and dented garbage can lids they could use as shields.

But he had done all of those things in an effort to make Nancy see he was a good guy, and he had lost her. And he had kept doing those things because the kids were actually fun and like the younger siblings he had always wanted...and now they were arguing about the differences between Latin and Ancient Mycenaean with Eddie.

He just couldn't keep up.

So he took the route he always knew would keep him and his feelings safe: he lashed out.

"Alright, so," he put his hands on his hips." What's the verdict, how soon can we switch back? I don't want to be stuck smelling like weed for the rest of my life. Do you even wash your clothes, Munson?"

All four boys—well, 3 boys and one man—stared at Steve with wide, almost hurting eyes. And Steve realized...

Shit.

...he hadn't made fun of someone like that in front of the kids that way in a long time.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't," he sighed and collapsed into Dustin's desk chair. "It's just been a really long day guys. It isn't easy being Eddie."

"Oh?" Eddie scoffed. "You just realizing that now Harrington? After one day of being me? You have it so fucking easy that it takes one day of...what? Being pushed around or called a freak or driving an old van that is not a rusty old shitbox, by the way. One day without your big house and your notes from your mommy and your neatly pressed clothes and your cute girlfriend doting on you?"

"And what do you know about my life?" Steve argued. "You don't know half of the shit that I go through! And you don't even care. You go around without a care in the world. Everyone you think is your friend is either afraid of you or looking for your approval. I heard from Janie Miller that you offered to give her free weed one time if she flashed you her boobs. You don't care who you're hurting or insulting or shitting on unless it's fun for you."

It was a miracle Mrs. Henderson didn't come to see what the ruckus was about because it just went on. Enough that they started talking over one another. One dig after another, one way their lives were seemingly better or seemingly worse.

The kids tried to interrupt them but they just kept going.

And Steve's breathing got heavy and his throat got tight, his eyes stung with unshed tears as he thought about...

The way everyone left him. The way he was actually alone. The way his dad couldn't see how hard he sought his approval. The way his mom only did nice things for him anymore was because he knew her secrets. The way his high school friends only liked him because of his popularity. The way that Nancy Wheeler never actually liked him at all, just liked the way he made her feel. The way that the kids left him behind for the next cool older brother kind of guy that came along. The way he was sure even Robin only half-tolerated him.

And the more that he thought those thoughts, the more...the more Eddie's body felt like his. The more he could feel every hair follicle on his head, the way every breath rattled his chest a little bit, the way his ears rang a little bit constantly from the loud music he always blasted in his van.

It got to be so much that it was scary.

But he and Eddie kept on arguing, until someone had the good sense to stop them.

"SHUT UP!" Will yelled and everything went silent. The two older boys stared at Will and he shrunk a little bit under their gaze. "I, uh, I think I figured out what happened."

"Well?" Steve snarked.

"...well I don't know for sure..." Will replied hesitantly. "I don't take Latin with Lucas and Dustin. B-but this right here. Alterius Oculos. Another's eyes?"

He pointed to the inscription on the page Eddie had shown them, right above the sigil.

“Ok what about ‘another’s eyes?’” Eddie asked.

“You need to…see through another’s eyes maybe.” Lucas offered. “Not literally. Figuratively. Empathize with them? Ms. Kelly told me about that a few weeks ago. Put yourself in someone else’s shoes.”

“Except, it’s actually literal,” Dustin snapped his fingers. “Because you two are actually seeing through one another’s eyes and wearing each other’s shoes.”

“So I drew the sigil, went to bed and we switched bodies to see through each other’s eyes and…understand each other better?” Eddie huffed. “I wasn’t even thinking of Harrington when I drew it!”

“What were you thinking of?” Lucas questioned.

Eddie quietly picked at his fingernails, and Steve looked down at his own hands—at Eddie’s actual hands—and saw the ripped up skin and closely trimmed nails. Eddie was a nail biter.

Eddie Munson was a nail biter and he was nervous and he was…

“I was thinking that…nothing good ever happened to me. That…I needed to have a reality check or something,” Eddie shrugged.

…Eddie was a loser. He didn’t have it all figured out. He struggled with things…beyond Steve’s understanding. Even because of Steve sometimes.

“Hey, uh,” Steve cut in. “It’s not like I did anything to help things last night.”

“What do you mean?” Will asked.

“I, uh, might have charged you extra for your movie rental just to get you out of my hair for a while.”

“I knew it!” Eddie exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Steve. “I knew you were pulling that shit on purpose.”

“Can you fucking blame me, have you ever met yourself?” Steve asked.

“Well, I certainly can say I have now,” Eddie grumbled. “So how do we fix this? How do we switch back?”

The younger boys all shared another nervous look.

“I guess…” Will began. “Do more things to understand each other. Just…do whatever the other would do…live each other’s lives.”

“For how long? Forever?” Steve scoffed.

“Lucas and I can translate the rest of this page,” Dustin offered.

“I’m sorry, Lucas and who?” Lucas asked. “You’re barely passing Latin.”

“Ok Lucas can translate the page while Will and I can do my best to help ‘Eddie’ navigate Hellfire Club.” Dustin held his hands out as though he was weighing his options. “And ‘Steve’ can just…not fuck up real Steve’s life. Or real Eddie’s life for that matter!”

“Can’t fuck up something that’s at Rock Bottom,” Steve grumbled.

“And maybe you two could work on understanding each other in the mean time?” Lucas asked.

Steve and Eddie stared at one another in a way that felt, to Steve at least, like a challenge. They nodded and Steve felt the unspoken “let the best man win” ring through the air.

Otherwise they were both gonna lose.

Eddie threw his head back with laughter.

"Swing and a miss," he called as you swung the putter at the little purple golf ball, over and over, without actually hitting it. "Honey, are you just letting me win? There's no way you can be so bad at this."

"We can't all be professional mini golfers," you laughed at him.

"Excuse me, that is 'mini golf champion,'" Eddie boasted. "They have my face in the Hall of Fame."

"Oh I didn't know I was in the presence of a celebrity," you bowed to him. "Maybe you could take some pity on a poor peasant and help me get this shot please."

"I supposed I could give you some pointers," he sighed dramatically and sidled up behind you. He wrapped his arms comfortably around you and his hands found yours on the putter. When he tried to get your body into position to make the shot, you pressed yourself back against him and rested your head on his shoulder a bit. "Hmmm, what is this funny business, honey? Trying to distract me?"

You wiggled your shoulders and relaxed, leaning your body further into his, emphasizing the softness of you against the hardness of him.

And it was only getting harder by the second.

"Maybe I'm trying to win?" you turned your head to look at him, breath fanning against his jaw.

"Considering I've made par on every hole so far—"

"I'm not talking about golf anymore Eddie," you muttered, shaking your hands out from below his on the putter so you could turn within his embrace and cup his face softly...reverently. "I...you know I've always had a huge crush on you."

"Honey, why do you have to tell me such sweet things?" Eddie asked. "It's our first date, I'm trying to be a gentleman. We're in public."

"And if we weren't in public?" You tilted your face closer to his, lips practically brushing against his. "Would you be a gentleman then?"

"Do you want me to be?" he asked breathlessly.

He dropped the putter and grabbed at your waist as he crushed his mouth to yours. It was a hungry sort of kiss, like he was a man starved. And when the joyous moan that came from you was as sweet as honey, Eddie resolved that you were, indeed, going to give him a sweet tooth.

Eddie's hands slid easily across the smooth surface of your shiny taffeta dress as he pulled you closer, causing it to rustle as it crinkled under his touch. It got harder to think as he savored your softness but he dreamed of what it would be like to be surrounded by all of you. To be consumed, and suffocated, and smothered by you.

He could have it...he could have you...

You pulled away momentarily and stared up into his eyes, yours glassy with want and adoration, something that he only ever hoped you would look at him with.

"Do you wanna answer the phone?" you muttered.

"W-what?"

"Steven are you up?" There was a knock on the bedroom door and Eddie woke with a start. He groggily looked around the room, at the plaid wallpaper and the tidy belongings.

Damn. The thing that he hoped was a dream was real, and the thing he hoped was real was only a dream.

"There's someone calling for you. Did you wanna answer?" Mrs. Harrington said through the door.

"Y-yeah, uh," Eddie called out and cleared his throat. "M-mom." The word was unfamiliar on his tongue, in his brain. Like a language that hadn't been practiced in quite some time.

He hoped, at the very least, Steve didn't call her "mommy."

He had been well on his way to an early-riser if he hadn't been woken up, but nothing was a bigger boner-killer than thinking of Mrs. Harrington as "mommy."

"Alright, come downstairs when you're ready; I'm making breakfast too. Your favorite."

Eddie pushed himself out of Steve's bed for the fifth day in a row. Threw on some of Steve's clothes for the fifth day in a row.

After the discussion with the kids on Friday night, he and Steve had agreed to go through the motions, make the best of living one-another's lives and actually put in the effort. Eddie told him about the things he did to make things easier around the trailer since Wayne worked nights--the laundry, grocery shopping, bringing home a little extra money by dealing—and Steve told Eddie the things he did—driving Robin to school, working at Family Video, his "health routines."

Although, Eddie would hesitate to call shaving his chest and styling his hair something someone did for their health.

He was also hesitant to maintain Steve's morning run, considering the fact that he hated running, but found that it was easier in Steve's athletic body than in his garbage bag one—Steve's words, not his.

They also set one non-negotiable thing each, that the other must do no matter what.

For Eddie, that was Corroded Coffin and their Tuesday gigs, like the one they had that night.

He had spent the weekend coming up with a plan for them to still play, even with Steve in his body and fully unable to play the guitar. Steve had even offered to learn some easy guitar riffs or chords, but Eddie had standards to keep. It would be his luck that on the night Steve was in his body putzing around that some....record label exec would walk into the Hideout. He wasn't gonna let that fly.

So they figured out that "Steve" would be spending some time with "Eddie" at Dustin's request so they could "reconcile their differences." And in an effort to learn more about "Eddie," he would go to Corroded Coffin's shows.

Since the "stage lights" were so bright and blinding anyway, no one would know that he slipped into the supply closet where his Fender would be plugged into the equipment, while Steve faked playing an unfortunately dead Sweetheart on stage. There was more to the performance than just focusing on the music...so he'd just have to hope that none of the guys gave Steve any cues that he couldn't see.

The singing was an easy fix. Jeff was working on his confidence; Eddie would just let him be the frontman tonight. No need to worry about Steve knowing any of the songs, let alone their lyrics.

He was an optimist when it came to music though. This would work.

For Steve, it was that Eddie did not talk to his parents outside of any quick, cordial conversations. And Eddie wasn't one to pry—he had his fair share of parental issues—it just seemed weird that the mention of Ma and Pa Harrington would cause Golden Boy Stevie to choke up the way he did.

Thankfully for Eddie, the Harrington's had vibrant social lives. Thomas Harrington worked late at the car dealership and then went out for dinner and drinks with his salesmen most nights Monday through Saturday. And on Sunday he got his clubs out of the hall closet and went to the Country Club to play with his other businessman friends for most of the day. Mary Harrington was just...unexplainably gone from the house for most of the day, most days. Eddie couldn't even explain when she was home to do all of the things she seemed to do around the house.

"Steve" had the day off of work yesterday so he was home for most of the day, and short of the few hours he had left the house to take you out on another date, Mary hadn't been home at all. Miraculously, when he returned at the end of the night, his hamper was empty, his bed had been made, his new schedule was written in his calendar, and his lunch was ready in the fridge for the following day.

Eddie wondered why everyone thought he was capable of dark magic when, clearly, Mary Harrington was the town's resident witch.

This morning was the first one that he had even heard her voice, let alone be the first time he would see her as he resided in Steve’s body.

Eddie crept down the stairs and into the hall, peering around to see if Mrs. Harrington was anywhere nearby then approached the little hall table where the phone was sitting off the hook.

"Good morning, this is Steve Harrington," he greeted as he pressed the receiver to his ear. "Fine purveyor of rental videos, microwave popcorn, and movie theater candy. How can I help you?" There was giggling on the other end of the line and he grinned.

"Please don't tell me that's how you answer the phone at Family Video?" you said, instead of a "hello."

"I will now," he promised.

"No!"

"You'll just have to call more often and stop people from actually having to hear it." His smile grew at your skeptical uh huh and he continued. "What's going on this morning, honey. I thought you had class."

He could envision you leaning against a payphone, twirling a finger through a lock of your hair.

"I have a few minutes," you explained. "But I just wanted to call and say I had a really good time last night."

He had taken you to the drive in to see a double feature—House on Haunted Hill and The Bat; Eddie knew you loved Vincent Price but "Steve" just had incredibly luck—but most of the night was spent talking and holding hands and at the end of the night, he got to kiss you again.

Eddie felt triumphant once again, knowing deep down that you would like the dates he had planned over anything Steve could have come up with.

Part of the discussion with Steve about how to go about each other's lives also included you. Eddie had hesitated and asked how Steve felt that someone else was dating his girlfriend and Steve had just shrugged.

"She's a good one, I don't wanna let her get away," Steve shrugged. "You'll just have to keep her warm for me."

"Is that really the best way to build a relationship?" Eddie asked. "Lies? Tricks?"

"She doesn't have to know you're not me," Steve explained. "Just...take it easy, don't do any of the good stuff until we switch back. You wanna know some of my favorite dating spots?"

So Eddie decided...if he happened to be stuck in Steve's body forever he could have you. And if he ever made it back to his body...well...Steve wasn't exactly as smooth as people thought he was. If he couldn't keep up the loverboy act Eddie had started, you would get fed up and dump him.

And Eddie would be right there to pick up the pieces.

"Oh yeah?" Eddie laughed. "Well I'm glad. I did too. What was your favorite part?"

"Uhhh...oh! That part when you—"

The two of you chatted for a few minutes, talking and laughing easily, before you told him you had to get to class. He needed to get going too, so he could drive Robin to school.

His chest ached a little when he hung up the phone.

"It's good to see you smiling, Stevie," came a voice from over his shoulder. He jumped, seeing Mary leaning against the threshold to the living room.

"Uh, good morning," Eddie greets her.

"Were you hungry? Figured we could have a little chat over breakfast," she smiled an obviously strained smile.

Shit, how did she know? What did she know?

"I actually have to get going," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder then put his hands in his pockets. "Take Robin to school...get to work, open the shop."

"Let me get your lunch then!" Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she dashed away. Eddie wondered if he could make an escape before she came back, but before long she was pressing the brown paper bag into his hand. "I put your allowance in there too. Remember Dad can't find out about it, Steve. Please...dad can't find out. Please."

"Oh...kay," Eddie frowned. Was that the reason Steve didn't want Eddie talking to his parents? Because his dad cut him off but his mom was giving him money instead? Well, Eddie could keep a secret, and enjoy the benefits of some extra pocket money. "Sure. Mom. Whatever you say. I've gotta go."

"You have plans tonight?" she asked. "I can leave dinner for you."

"Nah, I'll probably be home late," Eddie explained. "Going out with friends."

Mary's face fell into a neutral expression, then she rolled her eyes and sighed. It was night and day from how it was just moments before, and it was incredibly uncomfortable for Eddie.

"You can't do this forever Steven," she shook her head. "Keep me at arms length. I'm your mother. I'm trying."

"I don't...I'm sorry mom. I've gotta go."

Eddie scooped Steve's keys out of the little dish on the table and headed towards the front door.

"I'm trying, Steven," Mary called after him cryptically. "You can't be mad at me forever."

Tuesdays were your favorite day of the week.

Well they weren't...your favorite; did anyone even have a favorite day of the week?

To be completely honest, they were actually kind of nasty.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were the days you had the heaviest course load at the Community College. Your first class started at 7am—you thought they would be easy thanks to your early starts in high school, but you thought wrong—and aside from a brief, squeezed-in lunch break at 11:45, you had classes straight until 3. Tuesdays also meant Bingo at the Rec center and an early dinner rush of senior citizens at Benny's that started right at the beginning of your shift. So no breaks again until closer to 6? Or 7? Or later if the actual dinner rush ran long.

And Benny was a nice guy, right? He always let you take an extra 5 minutes when he made his rounds about the restaurant to greet the regulars.

But Lynn? The curmudgeonly opening waitress who had been around Benny's before it was even Benny's?! Who had been doing this for longer than you'd been alive? Lynn spent the tiny bit of overlap in your shifts criticizing everything you did.

Every. Little. Thing.

Usually you could ignore her, but on Tuesdays when you were just one...big mass of irritation, it took everything in you not to flip her the bird as she left. Just one big "fuck you, you miserable old bitch" to her back as she retreated to her clunky, old Mercury Monterey.

As soon as her tail lights were out of sight from the diner windows and she was a little too far to turn back and chastise you about something she forgot to earlier—she had done that enough for it to always be a valid fear—you got to breathe.

You suddenly gained a sense of serenity and joy.

Because Tuesday wasn't your favorite day. Tuesday nights were your favorite nights.

Corroded Coffin came in on Tuesdays. Eddie came in on Tuesdays.

You told yourself going into the day...well, now that you were dating Steve...it was going to be different. It had to be different. The date on Friday really felt like Steve had turned a new leaf; he was moving on from Nancy and was actually gonna give this thing with you a chance.

And your date with him the night before? It had been so perfect; you hadn't even thought about Eddie once. Well...actually...

That fleeting thought you had about Eddie on Friday night, wondering how he might kiss you, left a pit in your stomach. And it had returned with a vengeance after Steve had kissed you last night too. Enough so that it practically kept you up all night from guilt and made you call him this morning to tell him...

I really had a good time with you last night but when you kissed me I thought of someone else.

...to tell him what a great time you had, and that you were excited to see him again.

And it wasn't a lie. You were excited to see him. Excited for this change in him. Excited for the attention and affection he freely gave you during these last two dates that he, generally, hadn't given you during the first two.

You owed it to Steve, and to yourself, to give it a chance. And in order for it to be a fair chance, you had to make a clear distinction in your mind that...well...Steve was...your boyfriend now, and Eddie? Eddie was unfortunately just a friend.

A friend you wanted to kiss.

God this was gonna be difficult.

You could still be nice to him, still look forward to Tuesday nights when he and the guys would come in. They were fun nights filled with music and silly arguments and a textbook example of "boys will be boys."

You simply had to remember that all of those little extra things you did—make sure his favorite booth was free, ask Benny for pickles on his patty melt that he always forgot to ask for, or give him extra whipped cream on his slice of pie—weren't because you wanted Eddie to like you. Or notice you. Or maybe ask you out one day.

It was because you were his friend.

You had even come up with some foolproof plan to get the butterflies to stop flapping in your stomach when you did all of those little things for Eddie. Because you certainly couldn't stop doing them; that would be suspicious. Instead, every time your heart would beat a little harder for Eddie, you would just...think of Steve. His smile and his laugh and his kiss...

It would be so easy.

And certainly much easier tonight of all nights, as Steve walked into Benny's with Corroded Coffin, laughing along to some joke Jeff told before they had opened the door.

It would be so easy.

"Hey guys," you greeted nervously and turned to Steve. "What are you doing here?"

“What a lovely greeting Honey,” Steve chuckled and quickly glanced around before he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment as Eddie and the boys watched the interaction, Dave and Gareth giving Eddie pointed looks, which he ignored.

How strange.

“Steve, please,” you laughed nervously. “I’m at work.”

“Well the boss isn’t around,” Steve pointed out.

“Uh…w-well I have your usual booth ready guys,” you greeted Eddie and his friends.

"Harrington's joining us tonight," Eddie pointed out. "Can we get a table or instead?"

"I can just pull an extra chair up to the booth," you offered, knowing Eddie really liked the view out of the window.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "That booth does sound nice, Eddie. I don't mind a chair."

"No, we'll get a table," Eddie waved a hand dismissively. "Everyone good with that?" The rest of the guys agreed and Steve huffed an agreement beside you.

"Ok, uh," you stammered. "Wherever you guys wanna sit then, I'm the only one here tonight. And Ben. As usual."

It wasn't...terrible or anything, them wanting a table, it just threw off your cadence. If they had sat in the booth, you already had menus, waters, and silverware set out. Now you had to move everything across the restaurant because Eddie had beelined for a round table in the corner.

It was fine.

Steve hung back for a second and pulled you to the side.

"Hey, uh, is it ok that I'm here?" he asked. "You look a little flustered."

"Yeah, no I'm ok," you gave him a small smile. "Just wasn't expecting you. And I've had a bit of a long day. Kind of overdue for my last break too."

"You should ask Benny if you can take your break," Steve offered. "We'll be fine. The guys are hungry but they'll have to wait regardless."

"The...guys..." you narrowed your eyes at Steve. It felt too familiar coming from his mouth. "What are you doing here with them Steve?"

There was a beat as Steve's eyes got a little bigger and he looked down at his feet for a second before he cleared his throat.

"Listen Honey, I took what you said the other day to heart," Steve started quietly, inching a little closer to you. "About Eddie being your friend. I figured...he had something going on with him, I shouldn't have been so quick to judge. So I went to check up on him and...I don't know, turns out the guy isn't half bad when you get to know him."

"Really?" you asked blankly. You had no reason not to trust him but...going from calling someone a dangerous freak who should be in jail to hanging out with him and his friends in just a few days...seemed drastic.

But when you stared into his hazel eyes, there wasn't a hint of deceit in them.

"Sure," he shrugged a little. "I even went and watched his band play tonight."

"You did?" You were sure the craziest music Steve was into was Van Halen, if that. All of the tapes in his car were…rocky and poppy and nothing outside of the Top 40 charts.

"They're pretty good," he grinned. "Very good actually. They did Flight of Icarus and Mr. Crowley."

"You...listen to metal?" you asked with a frown.

"Uh," Steve shrugged again. "There's some good songs. And Ozzy. Who doesn't know Ozzy?"

"You gonna sit there and chit chat all night Harrington?" Eddie called from the table and the rest of the guys all chuckled. Steve's eyes hardened for a second but he gave you a gentle smile before he went to join them.

You didn't always go outside during your breaks; more often than not, you would sit in the kitchen, do some homework, and chat with Benny as he manned the grill. You'd think a middle-aged man and a 19-year old would have nothing in common, but Benny was honestly like an aloof father figure. He just stood there as you talked or complained about this or that, offered advice or lame jokes. It was perfect.

But tonight was just...confusing.

You tried to make the best of it, you really did. You brought the guys everything they needed, you smiled shyly when Steve reached over and held your hand as he ordered...

He even asked for a little kiss and you reluctantly gave him a peck on the cheek.

But it was Eddie.

He was being a real douchebag. Not to everyone else; just to you.

You had gotten their table set up and then went to check on the other customers and get their drink orders. But when you came back, he didn't even want his Dr. Pepper. He said water was fine.

When you asked everyone if they wanted their usuals—Patty Melts all around. No onions for Dave, extra sauce for Gareth, on a bun instead of rye for Jeff, and add pickles for Eddie—Eddie changed his mind and ordered a bacon cheeseburger instead. Ok, no big deal. It wasn't the first time he'd changed it up.

But then he had just been...picky.

The fries were overdone, the bacon wasn't crispy, it wasn't medium well.

You had brought his food back to the kitchen 3 times, and Benny even offered to kill Eddie for you to get you to laugh.

"He's a good kid but maybe it's his time of the month or something," Benny shrugged, urging you to let things slide. "Got bitten by a werewolf. Or turned into a vampire or something. I could even put some garlic powder on the fries, see if it does him in."

He then told you to go take your break, that he would take the burger back out and make sure none of the guys were having any problems with their food.

"Or else," he raised his spatula as though it was a deadly weapon.

Who knows, Benny kept things to himself, maybe he could kill someone with a spatula...

You were leaning against the grey stucco on the side of the building, enjoying the slight breeze, when there was a crunch of gravel off to the side. You turned your head to see Steve standing there with a small smile and his hands in his pockets.

"You doing ok, honey?" he asked.

"Yeah, just a long day like I said," you explained.

"How was class?"

"Stupid. How was work?"

"Stupid." He grinned wider. "I, uh, was really looking forward to seeing you tonight though."

You pursed your lips to stop the smile from making it onto your face.

"You really wanted to see me in my stupid uniform?" you asked, holding your hands out to emphasize the shapeless blue dress. "I look like Hazel."

"Did I ever tell you that I had the biggest crush on Shirley Booth when I was a kid?" You broke out in laughter. "What? What's so funny? Hazel might just be my type, did you ever think of that?"

"You are..." you started, but paused and shook your head dismissively as he got closer to you.

"I'm?" he questioned, leaning over to take one of your hands in his. He pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"You're not...what I expected Steve Harrington to be like," you muttered. His eyes went wide for a second as they darted back and forth between yours. "You're so much better."

"Of course I'm better, it's because I'm..." He faltered for a moment. "It's because I'm crazy about you, honey."

Your heart dropped into your stomach...

Steve was...crazy about you?

"You just make me wanna dance," he chuckled and took a step back, pulling you with him. He lifted your arm and made to twirl you around, and you laughed as you tripped on the gravel drive. He urged you to try again and you managed to twirl this time, apron flaring.

Round and around until you got a little dizzy and he pulled you to his chest.

"Hi Honey," he whispered as he rocked you back and forth to some unheard tune.

"Hi," you giggled breathlessly.

"Can I kiss you?"

"You don't always have to ask."

"But can?"

"Always."

Then his lips pressed to yours and you closed your eyes and you were surrounded by him again. Noses brushing, his lips softly pecking at yours, his hands tugging you closer as you reached up to hold his face in yours.

He pulled away briefly to drop little kisses on the corner of your mouth, then your cheek. Your eyes opened and you watched your own fingers thread through his hair, seemingly leading him further along to your neck, but instead it was just an unwitting follower because the choice to suck a bruising kiss at your pulse point was anything but yours.

You grasped at him tighter as something between a whimper and a moan exited you, and he chuckled in a husky, smokey way before laving his tongue over the abused spot.

You closed your eyes again, luxuriating in the moment and all things Steve Harrington...then it hit you.

All of the other senses got to you first—touch and taste, and sound and sight—and now it was smell. And it wasn't what you had initially associated with Steve, that bright, citrus scent.

It was musky and sweaty and spicy and a little bit sweet. There was a heavy undertone of tobacco beneath it all.

Eddie.

"Hey kid, break time's over!" Benny hollered into the night and you pushed yourself away from Steve, stumbling over the gravel drive once again. His hands reached out for you, to pull you back or to steady you, you couldn't be sure.

You regained your footing and batted his hands away to quickly fix your rumpled uniform and wipe at your lips with the back of your hand.

"You good Honey?" Steve chuckled. "You need a minute?"

"Uhh, yeah, I'll be in there in just a second," you waved him back inside. He gave you a wink and a smug smile before he turned and headed back to the door.

Your posture went slack for a second as you tried to control your heart rate and your thoughts. And where your head should have been consumed with thoughts of Steve, instead they were filled with—

"Nope! No. No more!" You stomped your feet and gave your face a few light slaps. "No more. Bad."

You took a few deep breaths, regained your composed service persona, and headed back in.

You spotted the guys table had been cleared, so you got ready for the best part of the night.

Benny was a realist who knew how to do burgers, fries, and shakes, and outside of that, didn't push the ticket. Which meant all of the desserts came from the local bakery every afternoon. They even came pre-sliced.

The whipped cream however? Benny was a connoisseur. He boasted to everyone that had the patience to hear about it that it wasn't cool whip, it wasn't from a squeeze can. If there was whipped cream on a shake or a dessert it was fresh.

"Nothing good in life comes without a little effort," he said the first time he handed you the hand-crank-egg beater-turned-cream-whipper that was, most assuredly, older than you.

So you spent the next few minutes plating everyone's desserts, whipping the cream, and getting it all looking perfect. It might have been the end of their meal, but it was the highlight of your night.

You would take a win where you could. Because everything else felt...

"Alright guys, time for dessert?" you asked, bringing the tray to their table.

You went clockwise starting with Eddie at the head of the table.

Cherry pie for Eddie, Apple for Gareth and Dave, Cheesecake for Jeff.

"And I didn't know what you'd like Steve," you told him with a sad smile. "But just let me know what sounds good and I can go grab it for you."

You were about to start putting dollops of whipped cream on everyone's dessert when Eddie pushed his plate further out from him.

"I didn't ask for Cherry," he said with a sniff.

Everything went quiet.

"Uh," Dave looked at the other guys at the table. "Cherry is your favorite man."

"I don't know, I'm not in a cherry pie mood," Eddie dismissed. He looked up at you "Can I get cheesecake instead? No whipped cream."

"S-sure," you smiled.

You were about to grab the cherry pie from the table to bring it back when Steve reached out and pulled it towards him.

"I'll just take this one," he reasoned. "Cherry actually is my favorite, and I am definitely in a cherry pie mood."

Eddie laughed.

"Whatever you say Harrington," he teased with a roll of his eyes. "Guess you have to get an extra long run in tomorrow if you're indulging so much. Mr. Star Athlete over here."

The

"I'm not gonna say no to cherry pie," Steve shrugged then looked at you. "Can I get extra cream on mine honey?"

He winked at you and you felt your face heating up, but you kept your mouth shut. You went around piping the whipped cream on everyone else's desserts, then ran back to the kitchen to get Eddie's.

As soon as the door swung shut behind you, you started to feel sick.

Something was wrong...

It was just off, you'd been feeling it all night. But you couldn't put a finger on it until now.

It was Eddie...

He was still his funny self...for the most part. But just like the other day at Family Video, he just seemed to be operating on a different frequency. And you wondered for a second if maybe it was you...or maybe it was Steve...maybe the fact that Steve was here and he wasn't...being very discreet with his affections. Neither were you, if you were being honest.

Was he...angry? Jealous?

He was the one to invite Steve out in the first place, so it seemed. Something just didn't make sense...

Steve had to admit that he was having fun.

It had barely been a few days of being Eddie Munson, but it was great. He spent most of the weekend with the kids learning the basics of DnD and putting together some things for a campaign.

He still didn't really get the whole game part, actually. But spending time with the kids? He wouldn't say no.

Having to go to school again wasn't...the greatest. Especially when all of the teachers seemed to have it out for Eddie. Steve just...started paying a little more attention, stopped being a general menace during class. He dug deep to remember some of the coursework from last year...and vaguely wondered how much Eddie didn't pay attention in class in the first place. Steve was not a model student and he could still remember this stuff, so he figured Eddie should be getting an A+ in all of his classes he was repeating now for a second time.

He was sorely mistaken.

Eddie's friends were also...pretty nice too, he had to admit. He had never really given the Hellfire Club the time of day when he was still at Hawkins High, aside from the obvious, but they were actually pretty nice guys.

The music though? It had been the highlight of his week so far.

Steve hadn't ever really understood what the big whoop the theater kids got performing but it was an adrenaline rush, something he hadn't felt for months since he was no longer a star athlete. He hadn't even been playing the guitar but the high of being on that raised platform, having the lights in his eyes, having his heart beat in time with the drum. He hammed it up a bit on the stage once he felt confident enough, like he had seen in one concert or another.

It wasn't the kind of music he liked, really, but he could get used to it if only to chase that rush.

And Steve had felt like a king again when Jeff had clapped him on the shoulder at the end of the set and excitedly gushed on that being the first time he had ever fully landed some solo or another.

Except..."Eddie" hadn't nailed the solo. Eddie had.

And as infectious as the celebration was, it made him feel a little guilty that Eddie couldn't even properly celebrate what must have been an exciting moment. Instead he just sauntered out from the little alcove they had set up and watched Steve take the credit for his accomplishments.

Steve went through the motions, just like they had agreed on, for the rest of the night.

They went to Benny's with "Steve" in tow at "Eddie's" insistence—he couldn't be left alone with Eddie's friends, he just knew he would fuck something up and give it all away—and had their late night bites.

And you were there, laughing and chatting and doting on all of the guys, especially "Steve." Even though it sucked watching you kiss his cheek, knowing it was really Eddie inside…it was nice to know that he had something to look forward to once he got back into his own body.

Something real. Something he thought he had with Nancy.

Now that the remnants of dessert were pretty much over and the guys were just shooting the shit until Benny kicked them out, Steve wandered across the restaurant to the old jukebox to pick out some music.

He briefly wondered what the response would be if “Eddie” picked something like Billy Joel. He couldn't give less of a shit though. "Eddie" might not like it but Steve was a little tired of metal after hearing it all night, after all.

"Hey Eddie?" your voice came from behind him and he turned to face you.

"Yeah, hey...uh...sweetheart," he gave you an easy smile. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were doing ok," you explained. “You seem…I dunno, kinda off tonight.”

“What?” Steve faltered. He seemed off? How? If you could tell…could the others?

”Yeah you didn’t…want your regular order, you didn’t want pie,” you shrugged. “Didn’t even want whipped cream on your cheesecake.”

Shit.

How was it that he could flawlessly fake his way through a guitar solo, but not this?

"I...uh...," he started hesitantly, wracking his brain for an excuse. He dug deep, deeper than he thought was possible, and he came up with...

Dinner with his parents. His father pushing away a plateful of food. His mother looking tired and bored.

"Sometimes people's tastes change," he finished.

It was a painful answer for him to give...but he didn't think you and Eddie were close enough for your expression to crumple the way it did. It probably wasn't the kind of answer Eddie would give to a friend—he had seen how protective he had been over them even before this whole fiasco—but if it meant getting you off his back, he would easily do something that would push you away.

"You know I've been worried about you," you stared. "The other day, outside of Family Video. It was so incredibly scary. And if you're having a tough time..."

"Uh, yeah," Steve folded his arms across his chest awkwardly. "Sorry about that. It was just...just a bad high. I'm ok now. No need to worry."

"Ok," you nodded hesitantly. Steve thought you would just turn on your heel and walk away.

But you didn't.

“Listen I know we’re not…super close or anything,” you hesitated. Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded for you to continue. “I just…I want you to know you aren’t alone.”

“Thanks, uh, I appreciate that,” he nodded and smiled tightly.

"And if there is something going on, you can trust me."

"Of course."

"You know," you paused and looked down at your hands. It was several beats of you taking deep breaths and looking down at your hands, and Steve wondered if you were waiting for some kind of response...or thinking the right words to say next. You glanced up and frowned. "I had a-a c-crush on you in high school."

His heart dropped in his chest and suddenly it felt like Nancy all over again. Telling him that she didn't love him, telling him that it was over, that their relationship was fake, that she didn't even know she was ready to be in a relationship. Only to show up with Jonathan Byers to the Sadie Hawkins dance a few weeks later.

Steve thought everything was working out so well with you. He watched you...kiss his cheek.

Were you planning on breaking up with him?

He wanted to lash out, like a wild animal, tell you all of the things he wishes he could have said to Nancy.

Except...

Except he wasn't Steve Harrington at that moment, he was Eddie Munson.

And you weren't confessing your feelings in a way like someone with a crush would. You didn't look happy or excited. You didn't even really look like your usual sweet and kind self. You looked conflicted.

Because, he realized, he did watch you kiss his cheek. He, Steve, watched you kiss "Steve's" cheek.

If you weren't here to tell "Eddie" that you were breaking up with "Steve" to be with him, then what were you doing?

"I-I mean, we both did," you backtracked with a little laugh and Steve frowned. "Me and Terry. You remember Terry right? I mean, of course you do."

Steve didn't know who Terry was, but "Eddie" would.

"Of course I do."

""Right," you smiled. "Anyway, we both had a crush on you. And there was this time...I don't know, you don't want to hear about this."

"You're dating Steve now," he pointed out. "Why are you telling me this? Why are you telling me that you—"

"I guess," you interrupted him but hesitated again. "You seemed pretty lonely last year, all the times we talked. Even if they weren't...talks? Just small talk. But...after Mickey left for college and you stayed behind—"

That's right, Mickey Caldwell...and his sister Terry...

"--well you have the band and all...but...no one even wanted to be your partner in class but me. And now...you have to do it again and I'm sure it's even harder now."

Steve was catching on.

You weren't there to tell "Eddie" that you were breaking up with "Steve" to be with him. You were just being a good friend. Because even though Eddie had his group of misfit friends...

He was lonely.

Steve knew the feeling. Aside from Robin and the kids...he really didn't have anyone around either. He had just been thinking about how nice it was to spend time with Eddie and his friends after all.

Steve had been jealous that Eddie was spending all of this time with the kids...taking them away from Steve, when he was just as lonely as Steve was...if not more so.

It gave him an idea...

"So," you broke Steve from his thoughts. "If you ever...want to talk. I'm here for you. You have me, always, if ever you want."

You smiled then. Bright and hopeful.

"Well, thanks, sweetheart," he nodded and placed a hand on your shoulder. "I appreciate it...really...it's very nice of you. You're a really good friend."

He didn't see—didn't notice—how your smile fell as he walked past you to get back to the table with the rest of the guys.

Eddie walked into the familiar darkness of the Harrington house, a good exhaustion settling in his bones as he trudged up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

He went through the motions of getting ready for bed. with a peaceful smile on his face. It had been a good day, the likes of which he really hadn’t felt in a long time. If ever. 

The show at the Hideout then dinner at Benny’s. Dancing with you, kissing you, and holding you in his arms.

He could see your smile in his mind’s eye clear as day.

He didn’t want to delude himself into thinking it was love or…or happiness…it was just joy. Plain and simple. And it brought him so much comfort, knowing he could be the one to provide that for you.

Once he was in bed though, and he replayed specific moments over again, that comfort soon faded.

He tried to sleep, he really did.

But every thought he had, he thought of you. Looking perfect in your little uniform. Your laugh as you spoke to everyone, the special attention you gave him. You looked at him the way he always wanted you to.

You moaned the way he could only ever have imagined when he kissed your neck. It was filthy and still ringing in his ears hours later.

He’d wanted to touch you, just like he did in his dream that morning and it was even nicer than he had imagined.

The only thing that would have made it better was if he was in his own body. If it was him, Eddie Munson, that you were looking at and feeling things for and moaning for.

It was with all of that and at the reminder of the dream that he had been so rudely pulled from that morning, that Eddie started getting hot under the collar. 

It wasn’t about sex, really; it was intimacy. And that’s what he wanted more than anything. The closeness with you. To know you. To be with you.

He closed his eyes and imagined your smile directed at him again, the way you put your hand on his shoulder when you asked if everyone was alright, and then fixed his hair a little bit when you went to leave. 

His hair…he’d always been sensitive about it and even in this other body…in his own body…giving it a tug always helped get his motor running.

Eddie reached up and gave Steve’s hair an experimental tug, the short few days not nearly enough for him to be used to the difference in length and texture. It felt crunchy from all the product he had put in and it immediately felt uncomfortable on his fingers.

No touching the hair, noted.

He vaguely wondered, were his nerves on fire because this body was sensitive and aroused and receptive to your attention. Or was it because he, Eddie Munson, resided inside.

Only one way to find out.

He palmed himself over the comforter, then over his sweats, but it wasn’t enough. 

Eddie didn’t hesitate to strip himself of his sweats and the suffocating briefs, and he propped the pillows behind him in a more comfortable way so he could…well so he could watch if he wanted to.

Right now he just wanted to imagine. To feel.

The thought of touching himself had vaguely crossed his mind the other day, after he’d jumped into a cold shower shortly after he’d woken up with morning wood. He wondered if that was crossing a line though. Steve’s dick…was just a dick. Just like his dick was a dick. The same but different. And he’d seen different ones before and yeah some were weird or different sized…did it matter?

If Eddie thought about it from a mechanical sense…a car was a car, no matter who the owner was, or how cautious or rough the driver was…and even two cars of the same make and model could have their very unique quirks…

As long as everything worked and you got from Point A to Point B right?

So he closed his eyes and imagined.

You were there, of course, back outside of Benny’s. He was making you laugh and twirling you around, just like he had earlier that night. Watching your little uniform skirt balloon out just the slightest bit. It wasn’t ruffly or anything, just a standard waitress uniform with a straight skirt.

It didn’t take much touching to get him fully hard; he’d spent enough time exploring to know what he liked so he just let the feelings guide him in this new body.

He licked his palm several times then spit in his hand before he held the shaft loosely. He gave it a few loose strokes before he tightened his grip a little and twisted, hissing at the sweet friction. 

But this was his fantasy, so your uniform could be anything. Flowier, shorter, enough to see the frilly lace edge of your panties when he twirled you and the skirt flared.

“Didn’t know you were trying to turn this sweet moment into a peep show,” you giggled at him and swatted at his chest as he pulled you into his chest to rock together with him.

“I dunno honey,” he sighed. “I think I would be seeing more than just some lace if this was a peep show.”

“Well, what did you have in mind, big boy?”

The hand that had been resting near his head immediately went down to cup and squeeze his balls, and his throat got tighter as he held in a strangled moan. He wasn’t…too sure if he liked it all that much…but he was positive that he didn’t dislike it. He could make himself grow to like it if he needed to.

He stilled the stroking to run his fingers over the head; a favorite little move of his where he pivoted his wrist, letting the joints in his fingers run over the tip and around the head of his cock, hitting all of his sensitive spots in varying intervals. It wasn’t the same, his fingers weren’t as long now, as he noted while he was playing the guitar earlier. 

Regardless, pleasure still surged through him, so it got the job done.

“No peeking,” you whispered against his lips and you covered his eyes with his hands. He’d asked for your panties and you’d agreed without hesitation. If this wasn’t a dream, he would never have been that lucky. He chuckled as your hands pulled away from his and it took everything in him not to look through his fingers at the sound of the rustling of your uniform. 

Suddenly your hands were on the waist of his jeans, working the button open and the zipper downwards.

“Honey, what are you doing?” he teased. “You being naughty?” He just about pulled his hands away from his eyes and you snatched your hands away from him.

“Nooo,” you sing-songed. “No looking yet, I’ll tell you when.”

The ache for him to chase his release was different than he was used to. The best way to describe what he usually felt was…dulcet…smooth…it danced along his nerve endings and made him want more. Drove him to do more, to explore more. A siren’s song to tug and twist and tease until he was floating. But now it was almost…primordial. It leached into his skin and deep into his bones; a hefty, cloying need that would grip his entire being whole and drag him into the depths of the earth itself if it could.

It was a delicious contrast, the difference between the softness of your hand wrapped around him and the slight drag from your panties as you used them to help get him off.

You spit on his tip and let it mingle with his precum, let it slide over the sensitive skin.

Eddie spit in his hand again, trying to achieve that feeling that his imagination conjured up but was just outside of the corporeal.

“Do you like it?” you asked and he could hear the feral grin in your voice.

“I like it,” he moaned. 

“Do you like me?”

“I love you,” he said breathlessly. “Fuck, I would love you so if you just let me.”

He was close, it was euphoric. His nerves exploding, synapses firing as he twisted his hand around the head just so, squeezed his balls again, and then the base of his cock.

“Ok you can look now.”

And he did, directly into those mischievous, knowing eyes of yours as you looked right back at him.

“Cum for me Steve.”

And…he couldn’t…he couldn’t…

Eddie opened his eyes and stared around the room–a room that wasn’t his–looked down at the hands that weren’t his, touching the cock that wasn’t his. 

Because as much as Eddie could simply…compartmentalize and rationalize for however long he had been in his little fantasy…

It was Steve, it was all Steve. All you wanted right now was Steve Harrington and not Eddie Munson. You probably would never want Eddie.

And maybe one day–if he was still cursed to live like this, if he was stuck in this body until the end of his life–he could live with the fact that you wanted Steve because hopefully.

But as his pleasure evaded him and all of the sad thoughts returned, he simply couldn’t escape the simple fact that his honey didn’t want him…she wanted someone else.

The guys had left shortly after your...interaction with Eddie.

Your confession.

The sweet kiss Steve had given you before they had left was...wonderful. But it was like the glue holding together the broken vase on that one episode of the Brady Bunch.

The feelings were building, the pressure too much, and before long...you sprung a leak and the reality of what you had done hit you. It had you shaking. Benny must have known something was wrong; he had asked you all through your closing tasks if you were alright.

"You good kid?" He asked. "Cuz I can finish up if you wanna get home. I know today's your busy day."

Truth be told, he always asked you that, but the extra edge of concern to his voice was a dead giveaway that you weren't doing a good job of holding it together.

“Nah Ben,” you smiled meekly. “I’m ok. Tired. But I’ll make it. Thanks.”

You started hyperventilating by the time you got into your car.

“Stupid, you’re so stupid,” you muttered to yourself. “How could you tell him?”

You weren’t even sure what possessed you to say anything, what compelled you to stop and say those dumb words.

You know, I had a crush on you.

What did you expect him to say...confess that he had a crush on you too?

Declare his undying love for you?

Instead he just called you a friend.

By the time you reached the 5th street intersection, you rationalized that, at the very least, you hadn’t mentioned that you still had a crush on Eddie. And as you pulled into your driveway, you were panicking again because…well what did this mean now that Steve was spending time with Eddie?

Would he say anything? God, did Steve already know?

It really was nice that Steve was hanging out with Eddie...they seemed to get along well enough. And yeah Eddie had the guys but…well, it wasn’t a stretch to say that Eddie could use as many friends on his side as he could get. He always put on a brave face but that didn’t mean he never felt lonely. Or alone. Stuck in a place he desperately didn’t want to be.

You just wanted to tell him it was ok. That he had you if he want—

"God, stop," you slammed your hands against the steering wheel as though it would force the thoughts from your brain. As though it would stop your heart from aching. "Stop thinking about him, you have to stop thinking about him."

Because the more you thought about Eddie, the more you’d want to comfort him.

And the more you wanted to comfort him, the more you’d want to hold him and kiss him.

And he’d made it plenty clear tonight that he didn’t see you as anything more than Mickey’s Kid Sister’s Silly Friend.

Or at least that’s just how it felt.

Another busybody townie who couldn’t mind their own business, who had to offer words of encouragement, who pitied him.

No. Not that. He didn't give people who pitied him the time of day. What if...

Bile rose in your throat as you came to a realization.

What if he didn’t just see you as another silly townie? What if he had known? He had known you had a crush on him all along, and he had taken pity on you. Because you were Terry's friend, he didn't want you to get hurt. And now that you were with Steve...he couldn't let you keep your hopes up anymore? You had a real boyfriend now.

That was it...

He was just...being nice to you all this time.

And that...hurt.

The realization of all that wasted time. Years spent thinking...hoping...

You made it into your house, went through the motions of getting ready for bed, and numbly said goodnight to your mom as your mind raced and raced and your heart broke even more.

It wasn't until you were tucked into bed, head filled with sad thoughts of every time you thought that maybe...just maybe Eddie liked you back, that you remembered.

Your diary.

Some silly old pink think that Terry had gotten you for your birthday years ago. You didn't write in it too often—you hadn't ever really been a diary person—certainly not recently. It was tucked into your nightstand underneath magazines and random junk from your school bag.

You sat up, turned the lamp on, and opened the drawer. You dug through the junk until you found it.

You flipped indiscriminately through pages filled with doodles and random thoughts. Until you came across entries from your freshman year at Hawkins High.

Silly things about class schedules and how mean Mrs. O'Donnell was and how you were not good in geometry.

And then...hearts and stars and flowers and one name repeated over and over and over...

Eddie Munson. Edward Munson. Mrs. Edward Munson.

You ran your fingers over the indentations your pen made in the pages as you read your own silly words.

Eddie invited us to sit with them at lunch.Terry said no, that she wanted to sit closer to the cheerleaders. Maybe they would be nicer to us if they actually knew we existed.

Eddie held open the door for me when I passed him in the hallway.

Eddie got his driver's license. He and his uncle fixed up this van and now he's driving Mickey and Terry to school. He asked if I wanted a ride too, said he would let me ride shotgun on Fridays. He's so sweet.

Eddie called me sweetheart today. I swear my heart stopped. I am dead. I have died.

Terry said she has a crush on someone but she won't tell me who it is. I really want to tell her that I have a crush on Eddie. Maybe if she knew, she could say nice things to him about me.

She likes him too. She wants him to ask her to prom. She keeps asking who my crush is and of course I can't tell her. Because he would obviously choose her over me, who am I kidding?

It's the last entry in the diary and the page is warped from old tears and scribbled over with pen.

After that day, you buried the diary in your nightstand. You kept your thoughts to yourself. Writing them down made them real and scary. Instead you let your secrets fester and grow and rot inside of your heart.

You didn't realize you'd started crying until fresh tears started hitting the already-warped page.

"Shit," you scrubbed at your eyes for a second and then stared at the journal as your throat got tight.

Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson.

His name written over and over and over again. Obsessively.

Nancy Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler.

Just like Steve had been with Nancy. Always talking about her and thinking about her.

All of your wasted feelings. From both of you.

But Steve had moved on. And so could you.

You ripped the warped page out of the diary and tore it to pieces. And then the next page. And the next one. Over and over until your thoughts and feelings were ripped to confetti on your bedspread.

No more.

It was time to move on from Eddie Munson.

Tag List:

@luna-munson83 @kaitebugg03 @invaderzia1 @delusionalbabe @secretdryrose @eddiesguitarskills @simplyundeniable98 @imaslutforcuddles @hanobe8 @josephquinncore @champagnejoker @strawberrysodaslut @fangirling-4-ever @sadbitchfangirl @rosaline-black @vxlkyrieee @aysheashea @micheledawn1975 @thora-jane @pricelessemotion @lfaewrites @hazydespair @realsuper-dark @novelnovella @jaime1110 @manda-panda-monium

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

— Kirishima gets assigned to be the bodyguard to one of the worlds greatest idols: you. —

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, brat taming, authority kink, spanking, blowjob, slapping, choking, brat taming, brat!reader, modern!au, no quirks, bodyguard!kirishima, idol!reader, PTSD portrayal, anxiety, war flashbacks, implied minor character death, drugging, alcohol consumption, size difference: kirishima is 2 feet taller than you, regardless of the reader’s original height. If you’re 6 ft congrats he’s 8 ft.

word count: 20,500

a/n: this is for the bnharem collab.... im so sorry, it’s 4:30 am and I have a plane to catch in 2 hours to get back to school. thank you jo for proofreading this for me because lol I am a mess. if the paragraph spacing did not work as I wish it does, please let me know so I can go in and edit in visible paragraph spacers!

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“I’ll be okay.”

The smell of dirt, sweat, and blood clung to the air.

The sun was setting, its blood-red shine illuminating against the destroyed earth, making the already bloodied soil even bloodier. 

There was no telling if the land was quiet, if the reason why the world's silence was because the world just for this moment had gone silent, or if the earlier explosions were still ringing in his ears.

Kirishima sat wounded, his back pressed to the wall, his eyes wide, breathing erratic. He can’t move, can’t bother picking up the gun that lays abandoned by his knee as warm, sticky liquid spills onto his clothed knees and continues to soak the fabric of his jeans.

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

Kirishima stills, his eyes stilling on the floor and looking at the clear moisture. He doesn’t need to touch his face to know it’s a combination of both sweat and tears. 

His ears sing with white noise, the erratic beat of his heart, and his pained breathing.

“I’ll be okay,” the ghost taunts his mind.

But I’m not okay, Kirishima tries to speak, but knows with how his tongue is sitting like a thick dried sponge in his mouth, he won’t be able to speak. Pushing off the cold floor, flops onto his back, his arm flinging over his closed, shaken eyes until the ringing in his ear disappears into his alarm clock. 

05:30.

Kirishima lays there for a bit more, his chest still heaving heavily with the weight of lead.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

Kirishima runs through breathing exercises, his chest never stopping in it’s hiccuped, broken pants as his memories continue to haunt his mind. If only he was smarter, more observant, better.

“Time to get up, time to get up, time to get up,” his phone screams with his second alarm set at 06:45. The sound does what it’s intended, jolting Kirishima out of his own head. His labored breathing shallowing just enough for his lungs to finally grasp ahold of its required function.

Today was an important day for him; he needed to be on his tiptop game, according to what Toshinori said yesterday.

I’m okay, he convinced himself as he does every morning after having this dream. Kirishima flings his arm off his eyes, the morning purple sun shining softly through his blinds. I’m okay.

Date: 4/2 Time: 08:00 Location: UA Services

“And in other news, music industries princess Y/n has been attacked by yet another round of masked perpetrators. Fortunately for the music idol, she was left unhurt but was clearly rattled. This is but the fourth attack on Y/n since three weeks ago. It’s leaving many of us fans, spectators, and civilians wondering just what is being done to ensure her safety? Y/n is reported to not have a single bodyguard to her name, wanting to quote-on-quote ‘experience her fans to the fullest’, but with these recent attacks, we can’t help but hope something is done. At least until something is done about these attackers—”

Kirishima’s eyes tore away from the screen, his lips pressed into a deep frown as he took in the story. There was deep worry about it, not only because he hated the idea of people getting hurt, but because he was a big fan of yours.

Your debut album had come out during his training camp for the military. Not only was it an instant billboard smasher breaking every standing record, but his commanding officers were obsessed with the album and played it continuously until they graduated. Most of Kirishima’s comrades came to dislike your music solely because they remember throwing up, bleeding, and suffering while you sang about love and whatnot, but Kirishima? Kirishima fell in love.

It was a bright spot in his life, and he was grateful for your music, even if it has been ten years and six albums since the training camp.

“Yo, Kiri!” a voice cheered out happily as a hand clasped onto his shoulder from behind. Kirishima held the flinch that threatened to rip through his bones. Kirishima turned to find Kaminari grinning up at him, a cup of steaming tea in one hand as he grinned brightly at his coworker. “I heard you’re finally getting a good case today!”

Kirishima found himself relaxing at the sight of his rather spontaneous friend, a warm smile easing onto his face as he raised his fist for a greeting fist bump.

“We’ll see, I know Toshi’ said it was going to be important, but he also said escorting the paranoid old lady was important,” Kirishima sighed, his smile softening a bit.

Kaminari laughed, his arm slinging around Kirishima’s shoulders as he remembered that.

The little old lady was sure that the government was out to kill her and wanted protection until her son returned from his vacation. Needless to say, Kirishima had thoroughly enjoyed his time with her, even if she was a bit scary. It was a low-risk job, and he only was paranoid by her cane, which she used to thwack his back many times as she talked about how plums extended your life.

“God, I remember subbing in for you for one hour because of your family emergency, and she was so scary! She still haunts my nightmares!” Kaminari shudders, placing the cup of his tea to his lip and taking a long, slow drink. His eyes shift over to the TV, which is still broadcasting the story of your attack. “What a bunch of bastards,” he growls, eyebrows scrunching as the news reporter ends the segment. “Thinking they can go after such a beautiful and talented idol… I’ll kill them.”

Kirishima was more than well aware of Kaminari’s plentiful budding romances. The blond man fell in love with just about any smiling woman who happened to waltz in front of him. Still, unlike most times, he found himself agreeing with him.

“It sounds really serious. I hope that she really considers some type of security team,” Kirishima inputs too, taking the teacup in his fingers with a nod of thanks. “There’re too many weirdos in Japan and in the world, I wouldn’t want to hear the news the day something bad happens.”

Kaminari hums, his face nearing Kirishima’s as he takes a small sip of the apparently black tea. His eyes scrunch, and Kirishima smiles awkwardly as the blond studies him intently.

“W-Wha—”

“You like Y/n!” Kaminari exclaims (accuses, maybe?), his arm leaving Kirishima’s shoulders as he points a finger accusingly at him. “I thought I was the only one in this department who did!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Denki,” the familiar voice of Sero responds for Kirishima. “Everyone in the world is in love with Y/n; she was voted the favorite artist of the year in our company. Everyone but Bakugou voted for her if I remember correctly.”

Kirishima looks over at his black-haired friend who is rummaging through his locker, his mouth curved into an easy, teasing smile as he looks between the bashful Kaminari and sneering Bakugou, who also seemed to just walk in.

“Her shit is basic and overrated,” Bakugou defended himself. “Nothing special and bad for your brain and ears.”

“Your go-to music playlist is fifty percent death metal and alt. rock. I don’t think you have ground to say that it’s bad for your brain and ears,” Midoriya’s snicker sounded from behind Kirishima, and he looked around to see the freckled man grinning at the snarling ash blond.

“And how does your stalker ass know that, shitnerd?!”

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

“Oh, Bakugou-kun, Midoriya-kun! You’re both here! Todoroki-kun is looking for you!”

“I’m just saying that Y/n’s dates to all the award shows and premieres have been blond. She’s into blonds, so she would totally be into me!”

“Deku, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to kill you myself.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to protect Y/n, bro. The only thing you performed well on in the application process was the tasing part. You can’t even tase people repetitively! She’d be dead in a second.”

“Can you believe my client dropped me because I couldn’t cook a five-star meal correctly? Hello, I can make 7-11 into a five-star course; it’s not my fault they’re not refined.”

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

“I deadass got into a dance competition on the way to work. That’s why I’m late, why would I lie? Of course, I had to compete; my reputation was on the line!”

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

Kirishima found himself opening his eyes — when had he closed them? For a moment, the air turned coppery, his body feeling weak, and he thought he felt something heavy on his lap. But that wasn’t right; he was standing up, he wasn’t sitting down. Most importantly, he was in Tokyo, Japan. He was alright. He was safe.

The sweat that clung to the back of his neck was cold, clammy, and intrusive. His chest felt tight again, his hands shaking so harshly the tea's warm, dark liquid was sloshing onto the floor.

There were seven pairs of eyes on him, each a different color, each swimming with concern and other emotions. Kirishima knew his ears weren’t working right now, his face unable to meet his brain's screaming demands to smile, and he watched as their mouths moved as they questioned his sanity.

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

Kirishima looked up, his neck craning to the side to see a tall, skinny man standing at the doorway. 

Toshinori Yagi was an esteemed bodyguard, one of the best in the industry, which was saying something considering that most bodyguards went unknown and unnamed. According to Google, Toshinori gained the nickname All Might after saving multiple political and celebrity lives when the government could not. It was long after his prime, and the man had retired but has since filled as the company’s head — thus why this job was near impossible to get.

Kirishima heaved a breath, realizing that he hadn’t taken a single breath when Toshinori’s bruised eyes narrowed in his concern.

“C-Coming,” Kirishima smiled, the blood rushing to his ears mostly ignorable now, but the scorching concerned gazes of his friends feel like cinders on his shoulder.

He straightens his tie, fingers curling when he feels the cold sweat penetrating through his clothes, but Kirishima doesn’t let it show. Smiling like he does, Kirishima pushed through his friends and followed Toshinori out the door.

They walked down towards the conference rooms, rooms that held their contractors, in complete silence.

“This is an important case,” Toshinori began, his voice gentle and poorly hiding his concern. “I chose you because you are a great asset to have, Kirishima. You are strong and smart, and most importantly, are personable.”

Kirishima looked at the man, his face contorting with his anxiety. He didn’t want to be treated like glass.

“Honestly, you being so personable is why I chose you for this assignment. Todoroki-shounen was a contender at first, but he’s not much of a talker; the same goes for Bakugou-shounen. Midoriya-shounen was probably the best choice, but there’s a new assignment that asked for three, so I gave up those three,” Toshinori explained the current assignments. It both delighted Kirishima to hear that he could keep up with arguably the three most qualified workers here as it did, at times, make him feel lesser. 

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

“The only reason why you weren’t the first choice is because of what I walked into just now,” Toshinori interrupts Kirishima’s thoughts and words. Kirishima finds his eyes tearing away from the smooth, polished wood floor to see Toshinori stopping in front of Conference Room A, his gaze intense on him. “To be frank, I wasn’t too sure if we should have hired you all that time ago. You are excellent on the field, your skills are phenomenal. Something to be proud of, truly, but you are clearly not completely healed from your time on the force.”

“Toshinori—”

“Kirishima-shonen, I’m not saying that there’s shame in your current struggles,” Toshinori once again interrupts, his hand a soothing warmth on Kirishima’s shoulder. “I’m still not healed from my past injuries, and as many people have undoubtedly told you, it’s okay to not be okay. But you barely passed the psych evaluation and only passed your field training because you scored so phenomenally on the other things your lack of a shooting score passed you.”

Kirishima felt unable to look away from the piercing blue eyes, and the lump in his throat never tasted as bitter, as sad.

He had barely passed the admittance test.

“I just need to know, are you ready to take on this assignment?” Toshinori asks in complete seriousness. “It’s a high stake, big-name client. We do not expect anything untoward to happen, but we never know in these cases. I think highly of you, Kirishima-shonen, and if you are ready to take this on, I’ll believe you, but likewise, if you’re not, I will gladly give this to someone else.”

Kirishima swallowed, his dry tongue passing through his equally dry lips.

Without question, he was not okay, not when he nearly broke down twice in a matter of hours, but it was just a bad day. He wasn’t as shaken as he was two months ago; he was going to his mandated therapy, talking to people who could assist him. Kirishima just didn’t want to be treated like glass anymore; he wasn’t glass; he was an unbreakable force.

Steeling over his nerves and ignoring how his stomach twisted and turned, Kirishima raised his gaze to Toshinori.

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

If Kirishima was sweating because he was on a mental slip earlier, he was now sweating because he was beyond petrified and embarrassed. His hands raised up to brush against his red spikey hair, praying to God that it didn’t look dumb. His legs bounced at a speed that was bordering insanity, but he could only hear the sound of his racing heart as he stared at your frowning form from across the table.

It was you — the Y/n, the world's biggest music idol, an absolute legend in the making.

“This is our very own Kirishima Eijirou, age twenty-eight. He has been with U.A.Services for approximately six months now and is without a doubt one of our most capable and well-serviced men,” Toshinori began the introduction to the three people on the other side of the table. Kirishima could feel a blush rising up his neck and settling into his cheeks as what he presumed to be you, your manager, and your lawyer shuffling through paperwork that was very thorough on his background. “He was enlisted in the military before joining our ranks and was honorably discharged at the age of twenty-six as First Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou due to extreme injury. He excels in negotiating, scouting, and is, as you know, a skilled close combatant and was skilled in handguns—”

“I don’t think he’ll need firearms,” you interrupt, a frown on your face in contrast to the bright smile Kirishima was so used to seeing on your face. He tensed in worry.

“Y/l/n!” your manager, Sato Kimiko, scolded.

“What? It’s true! We’ll be around my fans for the majority, if not all the time! How is that right? For him to have a firearm around defenseless, and may I add, harmless individuals?!” you argued, your eyebrows scrunching in your fury.

Kirishima felt frozen in his chair, his eyes seeking Toshinori for guidance, but found himself unable to look away from you. He knew nearly everything about you, he could admit with a proud grin that he was a super mega fan of you, and he might have, at one point, looked your height up to imagine how you would appear beside him. Kirishima had known this entire time that you were two feet shorter than him, but it hadn’t hit what that meant until he was shaking your hand when he first entered.

You were tiny.

His dick and mind really liked that, and seeing your own passion spilling out for your fans was making him fall deeper into this hole he had for you.

“You don’t have a say anymore? Do you understand? You were nearly assaulted yesterday, and we are all done waiting around for something serious to happen!” Kimiko yelled, her face contorted into a look of both frustration and fear. “Either you take this, or we all leave you. I won’t have you murdered in front of me! You’re twenty-six now, stop acting like a damn brat and grow the hell up!”

The words scorched the table, blistering heat filling the conference room as you met Kimiko’s glare.

Kirishima watched with a dropped jaw as your nostrils flared, your lips pursing, and your eyebrows furrowing with unspoken distaste and anger.

“Six months tops.”

“Uh, yes,” Toshinori interjected. “Our contracts only last up to six months for new clients, but if you find yourself wanting to extend your contract after those six months, we are very much open to negotiations.”

You nodded your head, your eyes falling back onto the booklet in your hands that exposed all the information available on Kirishima. From his likes, dislikes, to his allergies and the reason why he was discharged. Each in disturbingly deep detail to make sure all things were up on the table.

“So, you can’t shoot your gun, Kirishima-san?” you speak, your voice tight, a pleased, almost taunting tone.

Kirishima stills, embarrassment bubbling in his chest as you drop the booklet onto the table, exposing his military history to him and you. 

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

The lawyer shifts from the other side of you, his eyebrows scrunching as he too comes across that piece of information. 

“He won’t use firearms?” the lawyer scoffs, his semi-permanent frown deepening. “How will we know that he will keep Y/n completely safe from any sort of danger that may come her way? We’ll be paying six months for a glorified security guard? We want a bodyguard.”

“And we clearly have one,” you snap back, your eyes narrowing. “If my bodyguard isn’t Kirishima-san, I’m not getting one. I mean, isn’t that what you said earlier?”

“When we were assuming that the person Toshinori was assigning to your case was a well-rounded bodyguard. Not one that was still clearly haunted by his past.”

Fuck, that one hurt.

You scowled, your head tilting as you bared your teeth slightly, “And what? He managed to get into the best agency in all of Japan in spite of that. Sounds like he’s competent. I already told you I won’t take on a team, just one individual. I trust in Toshinori-san’s guidance and his choice in picking Kirishima-san. If you disagree, that’s too bad for you.”

“Y/n! Please stop this! You’re being ridiculous!” Kimiko huffed, slamming her own booklet down, her eyes drowning with her exhaustion. “I’m so sorry, Toshinori-san, Kirishima-san.”

“H-Hey, it’s okay!” Kirishima immediately imputed, his hands raising in a sign of retreat. “I know that Y/n has always enjoyed her independence as a solo star, and how me being involved now is imposing, especially after multiple attacks.”

Kirishima felt that his smile was a bit strained, a bit too forced, especially as your eyes hawked onto him. He felt like you were examining him, like a lab rat going through its initial trial and not knowing just what was to be expected.

“Six months?” you spoke, your gaze not leaving Kirishima’s own.

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

You hum, your head nodding. “Fine, six months tops unless the Lieutenant Colonel can apprehend these assholes faster.”

It had been ages since Kirishima had been called by his title, and for some reason, he found himself blushing. His mouth, for the first time this entire meeting, curled into a wolfish grin.

“You got it.”

The lawyer groaned, entirely aggravated and insulted. He stood up, “You’re asking to be murdered, Y/n. Don’t come haunting me when you end up dead and mutilated. You deserve all the shit you’re getting.”

Kirishima watched with his lips parted in a bewildered expression as the lawyer walked out of the room with a loud slam of the door.

You were unfazed, and Kimiko groaned, exhausted and embarrassed as she mumbled a weak, sullen, “I am so, so sorry, Toshinori-kun.”

“Ah, Kimiko-chan, it’s okay!” Toshinori shook his head and smiled knowingly. It wasn’t as if the long time famous bodyguard hadn’t seen his fair share of childish fights between clients. “Thank you for coming as always, and we’ll do our best to make sure that Y/n is in the best of hands.”

“Thank you… and so, the rest of the contract?”

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

For six months, Kirishima would be attached to your side. He must always remain at most three meters away from you when there is no one around, and during fan interactions no more than one meter. He had a full say about your safety. If things got rough, you were to follow his every command. Your agency would pay for his room and lodging. He was to wear black pants and a black long-sleeved cotton tee. He would be working with every venue, every hotel, every conventions security team. He would lead them and never leave your side. He was to be awake an hour before you, rest when you were asleep so long as it was safe to do so. He was your guardian angel of sorts, and you would do nothing but adhere to him. 

Most importantly, according to Kimiko, there was one thing they were hoping for: Kirishima's help and discretion. For the next six months, they would be relying on Kirishima’s support to figure out who the group behind the assault was and who the mastermind was behind it all is.

Or so the contract said.

“Y/n!” Kirishima called when the papers were signed, and the day he was set to start was printed. He will begin tomorrow. “Wait!”

You stopped at the door, Kimiko and Toshinori chatting merrily between them as they exited the conference room, Toshinori’s booming voice asking if it was true that Kimiko was attending to a near forty clients to which she bashfully admitted to. You were dressed in a creme knit long-sleeved shirt, faded ripped jeans, and a pair of nude heels. The heels were big, undoubtedly giving you inches, but you still barely got to his shoulder.

“I-I’m looking forward to looking — I mean working with you!”

You looked at him closely, your eyes dragging to the top of his toes to the tallest spike in his hair before your lips pulled into a contemplative pout. You looked back to his eyes, and you steeled over, your head tilting to the side.

“I mean no offense, Sergeant, I thank you for doing your job, but I have no intention of looking forward to working with you. I don’t want you here, so do your best to ignore the contract and realize that I am the most important person, so you will follow my demands.”

Kirishima can do nothing but stare as you turn on your heel and leave.

Well, so much for a good case.

Date: 5/2 Time: 14:00 Location: Tokyo Music Stadium

If you would have told Kirishima Eijirou that he had been working for the grand, the perfect, the fantastic music idol Y/n for a month now, two months ago, he would have laughed so hard he’d cry. Not only would he have not believed it, but he would only think of a million and two scenarios where he would go the entire day flirting.

Now a month into knowing you, of being your bodyguard on a contract for six months, Kirishima could say that of that entire thought, the only thing he had been right about was that he was, in fact, crying. Not only has he never managed to speak an entire conversation with you despite being attached to your hip seven days a week, but despite your much shorter stature, you had managed to get away from him.

You always managed to sneak away from him.

Kirishima could admit that the no more than five meters rule had been wholly and utterly demolished.

And now, Kirishima was crying, not out of joy, but of pure manly fear as he raced through the backstages of the stadium, desperate to find your short-ass anywhere.

“Go, Kirishima!” someone yelled as Kirishima whizzed past him, “Find Y/n!”

“T-Thank you!” Kirishima screamed as he continued onward, the yellow-lit concrete hallway seemingly haunting the further he went into it. The earpiece in his left ear shrilled, the telling sign he was getting a call. Putting a finger to the circle in his ear, he answered the car. “Hello?!”

“Ah, Kirishima-san!” Kimiko’s voice chirped on the other side of the line. “Wonderful to hear your voice again! I’m calling to let you know that the tour bus is parked outside of the venue now. The concert was a smashing success, and she’s come out unharmed for the past month! To make matters even better, since your arrival, there have been no more assault attempts! Oh, um, sorry, where are you guys?”

“We’re just, um!” Kirishima tried not to pant into the microphone; he was still racing ahead, his head peeking into every door and room he passed. “Y/n needed to use the restroom?!”

“Oh, wonderful. Okay! Let me know when you two are on your way over!”

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

Kirishima hung up as he crashed through the doors at the end of the hallway.

It was night out right now, the full moon reflecting down on the dirty concrete with the same intensity as the streetlamps overhead. And in the middle of a crowd of around twenty people was the person Kirishima was trying to find: you.

You were still dressed in the final costume change of your concert. Even from a distance, Kirishima could see the glitter and highlight on the tip of your nose and the curve of your cheekbones. The crowd around you was clearly not hostile. Each face was bright with broad smiles and sparkling with fresh tears, each voice high and pitchy as if they were talking with some goddess and not you. 

There was a slight longing in Kirishima’s chest at the sight of you interacting with your fans, your smile was so beautiful, and he wished just for a moment that he was the one that it was directed towards. If he had met you as a fan, and only a fan, he wonders if you would look at him as you did the others. Would he see the pure joy in the depths in your eyes, the love, wonder, and pride as they asked you questions and answered your own?

He wanted to be just a fan.

“Y/n, the tour bus is here,” Kirishima finally found his voice, the tenor of his voice spreading through the narrow alleyway. “Say your goodbyes.”

He had to ignore the way you stiffened immediately, the unsolicited joy in your face breaking and becoming bleak as you met his gaze. Kirishima absolutely did not feel pressure behind his eyes when you rolled your eyes and began to say your goodbyes; he did not!

The group of fans waved goodbye as you walked backward toward Kirishima; you didn’t stop waving and continuing your parting conversations with the group until the metal doors of the stadium doors closed behind the two of you. Kirishima let out a sigh, his eyes closing for a brief moment before looking down at you. You were expressionless, eyes cold as you looked dead ahead.

“You’re not supposed to run away like that.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t tell me what to do, Sergeant.”

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

“Part of your contract. Yeah, I know, but that’s your contract, not mine.”

“Oh, okay. Um, Kimiko? ...yeah, we’re heading out now. Five minutes, till.”

And then there’s only silence.

Neither Kirishima nor you bother talking the entire walk towards the tour bus, and you ignore Kimiko’s call that your lawyer would be meeting briefly before tomorrow's fan signing event. You walk into the bus and go directly to the beds, throwing yourself into the terribly padded bunk and passing out without so much as a sound.

Kirishima sinks into his own bed, it’s too small for him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Sleep overcomes him easily these days; he’s always way too exhausted in chasing you down like some spoiled toddler you’re behaving like to dream. But that’s okay, he thinks as the comfort of sleep begins to dig its skeleton fingers into his side, at least the exhaustion stops the night terrors.

Date: 5/3 Time: 10:00 Location: Tokyo Music Tower

Now, Kirishima knew that it was a common belief and a nearly proven theory that when you met your idols, you should never ever have your expectations high on who they are as a person. Celebrities were out of touch, cruel, rude, nearly jaded. They weren’t exactly the common folk. With people willing to forget things like them being human beings themselves or the common thread of celebrities being too rich to care, any type of famous person was cold, rude, and ruthless.

He knew that.

He also knew that you weren’t like the nearly proven theory.

You were kind, sweet, a practical angel to anyone who dared to approach you. You were the exception to the rule, an outlier to them all. You spoke politely to all your fans, domestic and foreign, and you treated each fan like the most special person in the world.

You were a good person.

But Kirishima knew, just as you reacted to any cruel person you encountered, you had an edge. Your words were as vicious as your name was known. He genuinely enjoyed watching you put assholes into place, but he sulked, knowing he was always at the receiving end of the sharp, bitter tongue of yours.

For a month and a day now, he had been the number target of your bitter words and scorching hate, but he admitted that he enjoyed it when it wasn’t directed at him, if but a little bit.

“I’m not renegotiating my contract!” you groan, your palms slamming into the depths of your eyes. “I already told you that I don’t need all that money!”

“And I’m telling you that you need to increase the wages that you pay the rest of your team instead of all those charities or else people will begin dropping you!” the lawyer countered with similar fire, his scowl angry enough that Kirishima felt like he had to tear his gaze away from this horrible battle. “You won’t be the best of the best forever, y/n, get over your stupid savior act and look over the changes!”

Kirishima looked over at you, his eyebrows pinching as he watched you fold your arms, your cheeks pushed out to a puff as you looked at the stack of papers with the title page fully covered with the word Contract of Y/n and Co. on it. Well, it seemed that the rumor of you spending your paycheck on things that weren’t you was right, how entirely manly.

“Oh fuck off,” you growl, pushing out of the chair and storming away.

Kirishima glanced over at Kimiko, who was looking pale and exhausted, undoubtedly exhausted from the past thirty-minute battle between the lawyer and the idol that neither made a single step forward nor a step back. How you had the energy to fight so passionately was beyond him. Kimiko nodded minimally, her lips parting in a sigh as Kirishima stood up and followed after her.

“The only way that brat is going to listen is by force,” the lawyer sneered, his voice fading into the room that Kirishima exited. “If that’s how she wants to play, so be it.”

Fortunately for Kirishima, he catches up to you. There are tears of fury dripping down your cheeks, and he feels unable to speak as he discovers a new layer to you.

...how interesting.

“It’s my money,” you speak, but Kirishima is unsure if those words are meant for him or for the void, the earth that you would much rather converse with than him. “I already pay them all a much greater paycheck than they should be getting considering their client pool. Why do I have to bend to their stupid will when I’m the one making the money.”

Kirishima blinks, wondering just what people might want to raise with their contracts. But, he knew you were right. By her account, Kimiko had a client list of many successful individuals, and he may not know anything about the lawyer, but if he worked with Y/n, his name must be good. Guess they weren’t like you.

“People are selfish assholes,” was the only thing that Kirishima could think of, and was something he spoke before he could stop himself.

But you stop in your storm, the anger that clouded you somewhat dissipating, clearing just enough for you to turn to him, your sharp, beautiful eyes for the first time filled with rage that was not pointed at him, and an emotion that made him think of… amusement?

“Yeah,” you agree, a half-smile cracking onto your face, and Kirishima feels his soul begin leaving his very body. “People are selfish assholes, huh?”

“Very much.”

There’s a calm, a snorted chuckle, and Kirishima finds himself stumbling further into the abyss of his feelings for you.

The next ten hours seem to pass in a blur, Kirishima feeling like he was on Cloud Nine as he stood behind you, three meters as he watched fan after fan approach you. Signatures were made, pictures were taken, and Kirishima found that he never once had to approach.

Maybe, he thinks, just perhaps, the two of you can overcome this.

Ten minutes after the official signing is done, Kirishima can’t find you, and he curses loudly into the echoing floor.

So much for change.

Date: 5/17 Time: 23:00 Location: The Parking Lot - Mt. Lady Studios

Kirishima was, for the lack of better words, completely fucking done with you.

Don’t get it wrong, he still was a complete and massive fan of yours. He would never once betray his loyalty to you and your musical career, but he was slowly starting to realize just why the lawyer was set to dying of a heart attack any time soon. Despite your early entrance to stardom and the stuff of legends, you had kept your fiery, stubborn individualism.

Kirishima thought it was absolutely hot and sexy at times, especially the times where you strut around in revealing clothes because ‘this is your body,’ or the lingerie campaign you completed two days ago as part of some fundraising event. There were significant perks to your strong handle and claim to keeping your indestructible personality, but it came back to rub them all back in the worst of ways when once again, you escaped from Kirishima’s side.

To be fair, most of the time, Kirishima was a very level headed individual; he was near impossible to rile up despite popular initial belief. I mean, he was good friends with Bakugou Katsuki, who riled up just about anyone he talked to! He needed to have steel calm emotions, or at the very least portray that he does. But even the unbreakable after tireless attempts can, at times, be broken.

It had been a hard morning.

Kirishima had woken up in a panic, the sweat of his night terror soaking through the sheets of his bed, and his head felt like lead. They had been in the tour bus for the entire day because you were going from the tip of Japan to the bottom of it, thus meaning that you couldn’t run away from him, concluding that when he went to bed that night, he was merely tired, not exhausted.

“K...Kiri...shima?” the voice whispered in his ears when he bolted from his bed and tumbled to the ground, his chest heaving in his panic as he cried.

He only slept for four hours that night, the ghost of his comrade haunting him too much for him to ever drift back to sleep. The only thing he was grateful for when he stumbled down to the hotel lobby for breakfast was that he had an attack while in his own room and not in a tour bus with ten others.

But the lack of sleep and the twisting of his guts from his still unburied memories meant that his exhaustion was dialed up larger than he thought was capable. Today was an interview day plus a miniconcert at said interview.

That meant that for an hour before your interview and two hours afterward, Kirishima lost you and had to hunt you down. You weren’t making it easy on him and had started moving with the crowd you gathered to evade him.

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

“Let’s go,” Kirishima spoke in a low, commanding voice. His eyes were hooded as he looked down at you, the crowd of fans parting like the red sea as he stands behind you, larger than life, imposing.

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

“Aw, did you make that just for me?! This beading is gorgeous!”

To be fair, Kirishima isn’t really sure if he’s crying right now or if steam is protruding from his ears like some stupid cartoon. The only thing he knows is that it's been a bit longer than a month, and his client is the most perfect person in the world except to him and some lawyer. All he knows is that he has been continuously mocked, shamed, and disrespected by his client, and at this moment, with his mind and body aching with the memories of the morning, he can no longer stop the tsunami of emotions and thoughts that shove out of him.

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

“We’re leaving now, sorry to disrupt your time. Come see Y/n another day.”

Kirishima isn’t even aware of your screams, the banging of your small fist against his back as his hand encompasses your bicep easily. He walks and walks and walks until he stops, his mind slightly put back into place.

“—FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! LET GO OF ME, SERGEANT!”

Oh, right.

He lets go of you immediately and nearly snorts at how you stumble into his back. So small, so delicate, and so completely weak.

“You want to know my problem, y/l/n?” he asks, voice eerily calm, much calmer than he actually is. “My fucking problem is that I signed onto this case with a single rule: keep you in sight and protect you. It’s simple, almost too easy, isn’t it? But easy and simple is everything that this assignment is!”

Your face contorted into a flash of anger and embarrassment, your nose scrunching as you found your footing, “And I told you that I don’t give a crap about that contract! I didn’t want it in the first place, but no one listens to me!”

Kirishima snorts, his body shifting so that he can look at you properly; your face is seething, your teeth bared and eyes wild, but Kirishima has faced worse.

“It’s not in my contract to listen to you, unfortunately,” Kirishima points out, his eyes narrowing. “I would have a better time listening to you, trying to find an agreement that worked if you used that brain of yours and figured out a way to compromise with me.”

“Compromises aren’t—”

“You think I wouldn’t?” Kirishima almost whines, his voice tight with emotions, fingers fisting in his hair, “You really fucking think that after a month and how many days of me spending stupid hours trying to find your ass, most of the time never knowing if you’re dead or not, I wouldn’t want a better solution?!”

“Like hell they’ll kill me! And if they do, I don’t fucking care!” you stubbornly insist, finger buried against the swell of your chest.

“Oh my god,” Kirishima can’t stop the bitter laugh from escaping, “you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous?! I’m not the ridiculous one here!” you cry, your eyes bursting with unshed, bitter tears. “So what that I run away from you? Can you imagine living the past ten years of your life trying to be something that the media wants you to be? No! You can’t, Sergeant! Those times where I’m running away isn’t to be some dick, but to give me time to be me!”

“You’re a goddamn idiot!” Kirishima barks, his anger curdling in his chest like a raging fire. “If you had looked at my damn file correctly, instead of focusing on the stupid shit like me not being able to fire my gun correctly, you would be more than aware of the fact that you are one of my favorite artists!”

“Wh-”

“I am one of the best in my company! I am easy to get along with, personal, manageable, flexible even, but from the very first moment you laid eyes on me, you’ve hated me! You talk down on me, you shit on me, my job, the reason I’m here! Listen, I would fucking love to be anywhere but here right now. I have literally never hated my job before, but you just made that a reality. But the worst part of this all is the fact that you seem to think I would have kept you away, prohibited you from doing things that I already know you love! You stand there and tell me that I would try to force you to do shit you don’t want when I have merely been asking for you to take me there with you! I don’t care if I have to stand away and watch, but I want to be there! I’m supposed to be protecting you, but you’re being nothing more than a stubborn brat who refuses to see the efforts I’m trying to make, and frankly, I’m done.”

Kirishima’s chest is burning with the lack of oxygen, his eyes narrowed and filled with raging fire as he stares down at you, his neck craned so that he could be closer, more daunting, intimidating.

“Fuck o-off,” you snap suddenly, a lone tear, your voice tight and shoulders tense as you storm off.

“So predictable,” Kirishima calls after you, but it’s not filled with the previous anger he had but the sinking misery and regret.

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

And then the all too familiar sound of a fist colliding with skin.

The anger in Kirishima’s blood evaporates immediately, and horror sinks in as he turns towards where you had stormed off. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

The parking lot is filled with an ugly yellow light that seems to set the stage for what was to come down. His footsteps crashing down against the black pavement were mute in his ears, and his eyes were focused on your limp body slung over somebody's shoulder. There was one person behind him, the other one already hopping into a van; Kirishima was the devil on their heels.

“Come on! Let’s go!” the one in the van screamed, his voice full of gruff apprehension and fear.

The van turns on.

Kirishima grunts, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sidesteps the man who was lingering behind the one carrying you and quickly slams his shoulder into the man's sternum, knocking him out the moment he collapses onto the ground. 

He lets out a roar of such, his eyes glowing with anger and a single mind track to take down the person who held you, ready to throw your unconscious body into the back of the van.

Kirishima doesn’t even know when he manages to get to the man's side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on you, and with the strength and anger of a million fighting warriors, he ripped you from his hold and sent him stumbling into the trunk. Your shallow breathing brushes against his neck, and Kirishima is hyper-aware of the cursing men who chose to abandon their unconscious comrade on the floor. 

With his arms filled by your unconscious body, Kirishima can only watch the van scurry out of the lot, the license plate immediately burning into his mind.

T082-23

When the man on the floor finally wakes up, he’s in police custody, and you’re just waking up. There's a bruise on your cheek, and you begin crying immediately.

Kirishima watches from the distance, his heart aching and guilt climbing up his throat as he watches Kimiko hold you close, her arms warm and tight.

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

Kirishima sits in a waiting room, his head relaxed against the wall as he waits for your discharge from the hospital. They suspect a concussion, and they’re running some tests right now. The police are there too, trying to get information from you on the failed kidnapping attempt as well as beginning the initial trials of interrogation of the abandoned kidnapper with a broken sternum, ruptured spleen, and three cracked ribs.

He was not surprised when the police officers came to talk to him, and he gave them the license plate.

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

(“Well, when we asked for a motive, it seemed that it wasn’t his idea,” the detective admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “His boss said that, and I quote, Y/n will end up dead and mutilated as is deserved. She deserves all the shit she has coming her way, end quote. Any ideas of who it could be”

Kirishima rubbed a hand across his face, the words striking a bit too familiarly to him, but from where. He shook his head, his eyes focusing on his bouncing knee.

“Thank you,” Kirishima said, his tone pointed in a clear indicator that this conversation was now over. The detective nodded, his frown slight as he left. The moment he was gone, Kirishima pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Kimiko? Yeah, I think we might have our first suspect.”)

For now, he was waiting for you.

An hour passed before you shuffled into the waiting room. There was a bandage on your swollen cheek, but besides the obvious attack, your eyes looked strong, and it seemed like there was no concussion.

“I should be fine,” you speak first, your jaw tensing as if it physically pained you to speak (whether it was because you hated talking to him or because of the injury, Kirishima had no idea). “I will be fine; I just need some sleep.”

Kirishima nodded, his body completely exhausted, and his mind filled with nothing but regrets on how he handled his anger earlier. He needed to apologize. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he had definitely crossed a few too many lines.

“Should we go?”

You chewed on your lip, your eyes looking down at the white tiled floors of the hospital — so bleak, so anxiety driving.

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

Your eyes raise back up before looking away again, “the contract.”

Kirishima finds himself nodding, his hand gesturing towards the empty seat in front of him.

“Sure.”

And with a heaving sigh that sounds like you were on the verge of tears, you sit before him.

The contract was then discussed.

It was decided that you could continue to interact with fans as you wish, so long as you took Kirishima with you. He didn’t care about the long hours, the manic fans, or the impending doom of a group of people who meant business. He needed to be there.

Everything else stayed the same, but Kirishima looked at you one last time that night in the hospital, his body leaning towards you as he did his best to keep his face void of emotion and any lingering teasing.

“I’ll only accept this new negotiation on one term.”

“W-What?!” you pause, thinking. “Fine, say it.”

“From here on out, I think we should be friends, yeah? I’m on your side, after all, it’s a bit weird if we stay just acquaintances.”

The tension and horror leave your body, and Kirishima, for the first time ever, bears witness to the most relaxed, meaningful smile he has ever seen you give. It had been one hell of a shitty night, but at that very moment when the seventh turned into the eighth, Kirishima felt a new warmth flood through his chest, his heart racing at the sight of your glorious smile.

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about all that I said. It was unmanly of me and out of line.”

“It’s okay. To be fair, I was a bit of a self-absorbed brat, too.”

The next day, a picture of Kirishima holding you bridal style is trending.

Date: 6/12 Time: 19:00 Location: Hime Onsen

An Interview with Y/n | Vogue Japan 4.5 million views • Premiered 2 hours ago 874k [liked this] 12.3k [disliked this] Timestamp: 05:32 / 10:33

[Interviewer]: Now, Y/n, we must congratulate you on your latest achievement! Your latest self-titled album, ‘Y/N,’ has been nominated for a record high of twelve awards for the upcoming Japan Record Awards, which will be coming up in about a month! Tell us how you feel about this?

[You]: It was quite a surprise actually! I didn’t realize that it would have done so well in the critic's eyes to get this type of award. I am proud of myself and am excited to see all the other amazing artists and musicians who were nominated as well.

[Interviewer]: Now, your album is all about staying true to yourself, whether that be in love or war. It depicts your own highs and lows while also highlighting beautifully universal things many of us face. Without question, you have always been adamant on staying connected with your fans and keeping a simple rule: no bodyguards.

[Y/n]: Oh, (laughs) yes! That is definitely a new thing, huh?

[Interviewer]: A new thing and a beautiful thing at that, too! Look here!

[captioner notes: interviewer displays many photos of Y/n’s bodyguard, including the most famous one where he’s holding y/n after the failed kidnapped attempt]

[Interviewer]: This is a beautiful — don’t giggle! — a beautiful man, Y/n! What do you have to say for yourself?! Did you finally succumb to keeping untrue to yourself for this beautiful man?! If so, it is perfectly acceptable. By chance, is your contract with him done? I would personally love to have this man on my team.

[Y/n]: (laughing) By all means, take him! (Y/n looks behind her, her bodyguard is there) I’m kidding, I’m kidding! (pauses) No, actually, sorry. Kirishima is an outstanding bodyguard, and I have no intentions of leaving him so soon. Uh, while I did say I had no wish or intentions to have a bodyguard, obviously that was not the best solution, so I hired Kirishima. He is a wonderful addition to my team and still allows me to be authentically me, so it’s still all good.

[Interviewer]: Ah, okay, well, Kirishima-kun, if you ever need a new client, call me. But moving on, yes! Would you like to discuss the series of increasingly concerning attacks?

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

Today was one of the last remaining days you had off, and in celebration of your upcoming award season, you had decided that it was mandatory to visit the hot springs. Everyone on your team — the backup dancers, band, and hair and makeup — were ecstatic to learn that they were being involved with it too.

This high-end resort had accommodated your entire team to receive their own private spring with an all-inclusive menu too. 

It was thanks from the owner for the free PR and, of course, because they were some of your biggest fans. So, in thanks, everyone got to enjoy the springs.

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

As of the past month, things between Kirishima and you had improved a lot.

With Kirishima no longer needing to run a marathon daily to find where you were, he would find himself walking at your side. He no longer felt like you hated him. There was respect and actual friendship between the two of you. You joked with him, showed him memes and TikTok, sent him snapchat streaks, and invited him to watch weird shows with you. You even complained to him about the things that annoyed you, namely Kimiko’s attention being stolen by other clients and the rude conversations you would have with the lawyer.

It made Kirishima’s chest warm up knowing that you were friends now.

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

But there were some things that Kirishima would not have expected to… arise.

Namely you growing to be comfortable enough to walk around with nothing but a thin pair of panties and a large shirt. You curling into his side whenever you watched a show together in the bus, the way your lips brushed against his neck when he leaned down to hug you, or the very so not obvious teasing you would do when you changed in front of him. It was as if you were watching his every reaction, enjoying the way that his eyes horribly tore away, or the silent hitch in his throat whenever you speed his heart up.

The biggest surprise arose the night after the failed kidnapping attempt:

You had come to his room, hours after you were supposed to have fallen asleep.

Your eyes were sunken, still a bit tired, and the bruise on your cheek was looking bad. In your arms was a white binder undoubtedly filled with the introductory packet you had received at your initial meeting. Kirishima had opened the door in his sleepy state in nothing but gym shorts. He had barely started dozing off, his mind wouldn’t stop thinking of what could have happened if you hadn’t managed to scream, and so he kept tossing and turning.

Seeing you outside of his room, his head dropped down to look at you properly, and his fist rubbing at his eye fell, “Y/n?”

“Did I wake you?” you asked, your face filled with a shocked, near uncomfortable, and embarrassed expression he doesn’t recall ever seeing on you. “I’m so sorry! I’ll wait until—”

“No,” Kirishima grunts while he shakes his head, his voice raspy and dry from his lack of use. “I’ve been tossing and turning, um, what is it? Do you want to come in?”

“I-If that’s okay?”

Kirishima breathes out a bit, his shoulders relaxing as he smiles softly, “Come on, let’s talk about what’s on your mind.”

The door clicked behind your tentative steps with an echo, and Kirishima watched as you walked into the hotel room with wariness and caution.

“Would you like some tea?” Kirishima offered, picking up a shirt from his dresser and pulling it over his body. The fabric was tight against his chest and shoulders, but felt more appropriate to wear around you.

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

You stood in the center of the room, unsure of where to sit, stand, or lay.

“Go ahead and make the bed,” Kirishima offered, taking the chair by the desk. “I promise it’s still clean.”

You laugh slightly, smile strained but grateful as you sit at the edge of the bed, binder resting on your lap.

“Thanks, I wouldn’t want to sit on a dirty bed,” you joke, but it sounds weak to Kirishima’s ears.

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

“You have my portfolio,” he shrugs, leaning forward so that his forearms rest on his knees. “I have a feeling you have some questions.”

“Oh, right,” you whisper, your eyebrows scrunching as you open the binder to the first page, but your eyes are focused on the desk. “What’s the medication for?”

Kirishima turns his head to follow your gaze and comes across the yellow tinted medicine containers.

“My PTSD,” Kirishima answers honestly, his voice soft with emotion, but there was no shame in it. “My service had a difficult end.”

“That’s actually… that’s what I came to talk about,” you rush, your hands slamming the binder closed. “If you don’t want to talk about it, obviously I won’t push it! God, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s okay,” Kirishima interrupted, his smile sad, but he stood up, his body a tower in front of yours as he urged you to sit back down. “It’s okay; I don’t mind talking about it.”

“B-But what if I say something that makes it all worse?”

A pause.

“Then I’ll tell you that it’s too much.”

A nod.

“Are you… are you still experiencing a lot of symptoms?” you ask, your fingers tightening and untightening around the binder.

“Some days are worse than others,” Kirishima admits, his shoulders shrugging. “I don’t experience much anxiety while in crowds anymore; I don’t have many flashbacks to those days anymore, not since February at least. I do still get… I still get night terrors and dream of that day. It’s nowhere near as bad as the first few months after the accident, but it’s still here.”

“What happened?” you asked after a bit, morbidly curious.

The file had all the details that proved Kirishima to be a master of firearms during his entire time on the force. He was a powerful combatist, and his ranking was a clear indicator of the respect and skills he had. Still, it was the quick honorable discharge, the near year-long hospitalization, and the current inability to use a firearm that concerned you.

What had happened?

“I was involved in a grenade explosion on my last day on tour. I was the only one who managed to survive the blast,” Kirishima easily stated, his voice quiet.

“Oh my god, I… holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’s all good. There were only two others around, and one of them was already dead.”

“Was that um, Major—”

“We called him Crimson Riot, actually,” Kirishima smiled, a chuckle light on his tongue as he leaned back onto the chair, nodding. “Yeah, that was him.”

“Crimson Riot,” you repeat, nodding. “Did you watch him… watch him die?”

Kirishima presses his lips tightly together, and for a moment, you’re unsure if he’s going to cry, answer you, or tell you to leave. There’s a whirlwind of emotions on your optimistic and typically jubilant bodyguard despite your asshole tendencies that make your stomach twist.

“Yes,” Kirishima finally answers, and you nod.

It’s hours into the morning before you finally depart back to your room, the horrors of Kirishima’s past still pounding into your ears. Kirishima wouldn’t notice, and neither would you, but on his shirt and yours, there’s a few drops of tears the both of you shed when you said goodnight.

Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou, while on an active warzone, had accidentally struck and killed his superior officer, his friend, his role model Crimson Riot, thinking that he was nothing more than an enemy target as he sat wounded behind a wall. He died on his lap, and as someone came to help, a grenade landed two meters away before detonating.

“K...Kiri...shima?” Crimson Riot had whispered as he fell to his knees, blood gushing and seeping through his clothes, spilling onto Kirishima’s lap. “I’ll be okay.”

For whatever reason, since that night, Kirishima felt something in him shift. He still took his medication, still had his virtual therapy sessions when he could fit them in, and even had painful night terrors of that moment, but it was becoming less frequent.

He wasn’t made of glass.

There had been more instances after the kidnapping attempt, but unlike the last times, Kirishima was prepared. He had stopped each one, keeping you safe and sound. As of one week ago, he had officially been given a firearm to keep strapped to his thigh at all times now.

It was an unfamiliar weight, one that still twisted his stomach and made him nervous, but he knew the reason why it was needed. Since the gun had been added to his gear, the attacks stopped. He was definitely not ready to be firing it anytime soon, but it had deterred the attackers for the time being.

Kirishima paused when he heard his earpiece ring, and he dropped his phone where he had been watching your interview despite being there himself.

“Talk to me,” Kirishima answered, his finger pressing the accept button.

“Kirishima!” came the distressed voice of Kimiko, “We just got a tip!”

Kirishima stilled, his eyes scanning the empty hallways that stretched throughout the private hot springs.

“I don’t know, but a person with connections with this mastermind said something about how there were two more events he was staging. Today is one of them!”

Kirishima’s eyes widened, his lips parting to answer Kimiko when instead there was a large, loud crash in the water from inside your room. He assumed the worst.

“Y/n!” Kirishima shouted, hands throwing open the sliding door and racing through the storage room, the shower, and exited out into the hot spring.

Steam curled through the wind, the white wisps of steam feeling warm and light against Kirishima’s skin, and Kirishima panicked when he couldn’t see your shadow or figure in the hot springs.

“Where is she?! Is she alright?!” Kimiko panicked, her voice panicking already. “I’ll call the—”

Kirishima turned on his heel, ready to complete a full sweep of the outdoor hot spring when he crashed into something smaller than he was… smaller, softer, and definitely the shape of a woman. Kirishima felt his entire body stiffen when his rough palms felt the undeniable feeling of wet, warm skin.

“Oh my god,” he heard you shriek. “KIRISHIMA!”

“She’s all good, Kimiko,” Kirishima stifled out, his voice tight, his head slamming backward so that his eyes were concentrated on the starry night sky.

“...sorry… uh aha! Another client of mine is calling, goodbye!” Kimiko’s apology was meek and small before she hung up.

Kirishima’s mind was racing a mile a minute, but his body was frozen, unmoving like a rock when he realized that pressing to his stomach was, without a doubt, your breasts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What are you doing in here, pervert?!” you splutter, your hands pressing to his stomach as you step away. “Are you a pervert or something?!”

“I, no! No! Of course not! Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry! I’ll go! There was a tip that something was going to happen right now, and there was a crash and—”

“What are you looking at?” you exclaim, squeaky frustration heavy on your tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with the sky! Look me in the eyes? Have you never been to a co-ed hot spring before?!”

“Y-Yes, sorry!” Kirishima apologized, bowing slightly in apology before he peered down. Still, his face bursted in a flame as he watched the way your jaw dropped in disbelief, the dewy wetness of the hot spring clinging to your body. You were, obviously, soaked, and Kirishima bit his tongue as hard as he could to keep the whimper from expelling past his lips when he saw the light gleaming off your breasts. But he watched your face shift between a million emotions, each one appearing too fast for him to read, too fast to register, but he saw the way a single-arm wrap around your breast and the other shoving into his stomach.

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

“That was a test! This is my private room! I have the right to not be willing to be looked at right now!” you shrieked as Kirishima spun around, allowing you the complete privacy of his gaze.

“You told me to look at you!” he squawked. “Y-You told me, and I listened because of our contract!”

Kirishima could feel his body trembling, his mind reeling in disbelief that he definitely saw you in your entire nakedness, and if the swirling heat in his stomach had anything to say about it, he liked it. Fuck.

There was a soft laugh and the sound of sloshing water as you probably (he wouldn’t know because he wasn’t looking) reentered the spring.

“I know, I was teasing,” you sing, and he can tell the water is gliding around your body. “Turn around, Kiri, let’s talk.”

“Haha, um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Kirishima admits, although sitting in this steam-filled space with just you sounds so very nice. 

“Why not?” you asked, voice sounding a bit upset.

“I’m supposed to be outside, doing my job?”

“Augh, but these private springs are so boring alone,” your voice whines; the water sloshes, and Kirishima winces at the slight throb on his tongue as he continues to look at not your direction. “Turn around, Kiri.”

Not too long ago, you had taken to calling him Kiri, a subtle change, a not unusual nickname people gave him. But just because it was you, his stomach flipped and twisted, and now with the image of your tits in mind, his dick throbbed. 

Gulping, Kirishima turned, his gaze bashfully looking down at you before glancing away. You were chest-deep in the hot springs, tendrils of your wet hair sticking to your neck. Was he dead? Maybe dreaming?

No, his dreams were never like this.

“Do you want to come in?” you continued to ask, your body moving towards him in the water until you reached the edge of the pool, arms testing into the black rocks. “You’re the only one not in one, and since I hate being in these alone, I figured you’d like to join.”

Kirishima wanted to join. More than anything, he wanted to take his clothes off and jump into the springs with you, for you, but that would be unprofessional. Entirely and utterly unprofessional.

“Please?” you ask softly, pleadingly, and Kirishima makes the mistake of locking his gaze with yours. 

“...fine, but I’ll be on the other side of the spring,” he concedes, his steps near clumsy and oafish as he stumbles backward to the shower and closet.

“Such a gentleman pervert,” you tease, fingers curling as you wave at him until Kirishima finally closes the door behind him.

The empty room is nearly deafening in its silence and the future as Kirishima slumps against the sliding door, excited apprehension rippling through every cell of his skin as a smile spreads across his face. He walks to the storage room, and despite it being a private room, there were two closets. The closet not already occupying your clothes had the things needed for him, and thankfully, it fit. 

He undressed slowly, folding his clothes and placing them into the cubbies. Fully naked, he approached the showers, and under the lukewarm showerhead, he cleaned his body of any grime, dirt, and sweat. 

Feeling refreshed and clean, Kirishima began his descent to the hot spring, his heart hammering when his fingers grabbed the handle of the door.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, a healthy amount of fear, excitement, and heat drumming through him.

“I’ll keep my virgin eyes away from your body, don’t worry,” came your slow tease, and Kirishima snorted softly.

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

Just like the first time, the entrance to the spring was warm, the steam seeming thicker than last time, clouding the outdoor room and his sight. You were at the furthest out part of the pool, your back towards them as you worked your fingers through your scalp.

Discarding his slippers at the edge, Kirishima climbed into the pool.

The pool only went as far as his thigh, and he sank into the warm water. It felt wonderful on his body, relaxing his muscles just enough for him to wonder when was the last time he had managed to visit a hot spring.

“I’m in,” Kirishima said, his arms rising up out of the water, resting onto the black stone. “You can turn around now.”

“God, took you long enough,” you tease, your body twisting so that you were facing him again.

To Kirishima’s complete and utter surprise, you stilled, eyes dragging up and down his exposed chest, eyes locked on the series of tattoos all over his right pectoral, and trailed down his right arm. His lips felt dry as your eyes shifted back to his face, to his arm, and back to him. The smile on your face felt weak, but it sent a spiral of dizzying heat through Kirishima when he noticed the hushed lust.

For a while, the two of you remained at opposite ends of the hot spring. Eyes closed, hummed melodies passing through the song. You asked Kirishima about how he felt, if his medication was due for refills, if therapy was okay (he was doing better, a refill was due in two weeks, and therapy was going the same). He asked you about your relationship with Kimiko, with the lawyer, and if you had any real friends within the music industry (Kimiko was like an older cousin to you, the lawyer was a pain to deal with at times, and surprisingly, you did meet some genuine friends). You questioned how his friends were doing, if he had any contact with them despite their busy schedules. 

So Kirishima found himself retelling stories of his coworkers turned close friends. Each story he told left both of you with sore stomachs from laughter, and tears at the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard. 

“Was the tip story true?” you asked once the quiet overcame and grew old. You shift through the water, getting a bit closer to Kirishima.

Kirishima coughed, suddenly feeling a tad bit shy about his posture, but decided to keep from moving.

“You honestly think I would have barged into here just because I wanted to see you?”

Truthfully, had Kirishima been a man without morals, chivalry, or disrespect for you, he would have. Definitely would have.

“Let a girl dream,” you smile, like a luring siren as you wander closer by just a step. “It would go against everything I know about you, but it’s fun to tease.”

“You’re a bigger brat than I thought you would be,” Kirishima smiles back, trying his best to not show the way goosebumps were bursting against his skin, his eyes locked on yours, trying to not get distracted by the way your wet skin made his mind spin.

“I don’t think I’m a brat,” you counter, getting close enough that he could feel the currents of the water with your movement. But you were far enough that Kirishima felt like pointing out the fact you disregarded his keep apart rule would be a mistake. “How am I a brat?”

The sound of the water rippling through the springs along with the growing noises of the bugs began a melody around the two of you, and all Kirishima could do was stare at the way you blinked your eyes slowly — like a feline stalking a prey.

“A lot of ways, really,” Kirishima breathes, his heart rising up to his throat as he felt your hands gingerly place themselves on his knees.

“Yeah?” you ask, parting through his naked legs, and Kirishima felt his breathing stop when your exposed chest pressed against his. Your lips were ghosting so far from his but tantalizingly close enough that he felt drunk off your sweet breath. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Kirishima sucked in air, his arms resisting movement, and his eyes glanced down at the way your mouth was millimeters from his. His dick was very much interested in what he could do about it, and when your hands grazed up his thigh and onto his chest, Kirishima could feel something rumble in his chest.

He moved to eliminate the space, but there was a crash in the following spring, pushing you away from him long before he could claim your mouth.

“FUCK!” the person in the opposite spring screamed, and Kirishima’s eyes closed in his muted annoyance as you sighed.

His eyes dropped to the water, giving you the privacy to rise out of the water and make your way over to the wall.

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

“Give me a warning the next time you try fucking your hot bodyguard in the middle of a private onsen!”

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

And with that, Kirishima took this as his embarrassed cue to leave.

He stood at the entrance of your private spring for about twenty minutes, entirely uncomfortable with the still hard dick in his pants, rubbing and chaffing against his jeans as he stood there. Eventually, you exited the hot spring, face glowing from the steam and eyes avoiding his gaze as you walked back to your room. Your robe was tight on your body, the hair on the nape of your neck pressed to your skin.

Kirishima sighed as he watched you enter your room, your smile short as you nodded a simple goodnight before letting the door slam shut behind you.

Rubbing his face, Kirishima listened to the voices in his intercom talk about how nothing had happened tonight. An attempted unwelcome visitor tried to get into your room, but they had stopped him. They didn’t fight, but they had run away the moment they caught on to the fact that they weren’t exactly authentic.

Kirishima sighed as he slumped into his room, collapsing on the too small bed as he found himself looking at the ceiling in deep concentration.

What was he going to do now?

That was undeniably sexual, his still semi-hard dick damning evidence to the known fact that he wanted you. By god did he want you. Wanted you beneath him, over him, splitting yourself down onto his cock while you gripped your arms and legs around him, fucking down onto his driving cock. 

Kirishima groaned low in his chest, guilt blooming in the back of his throat as his palm rubbed his pulsing cock.

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

“Kirishima-san?” a voice broke through his earpiece, and Kirishima nearly jumped out of his skin. “Are you there?”

“Hi Kimiko,” Kirishima sighed, his dick deflating instantly. “Everything all right?”

“Ah, yes! Sorry about earlier, the false tip and the sudden abandonment!” Kimiko embarrassingly apologized. “My client was ringing for the fourth time, and while I care deeply for y/n, I had to take it!”

“Mm, no worries, Kimiko,” Kirishima smiled politely despite the lack of visual contact. “How can I help you?”

“Ah, yes,” Kimiko asserted, her tone changing from apology to one of formality. “So, about the visitor incident I’m sure you were brought attention to, it seems that the vehicle they came in was with the driver's plate: T082-23. Does that sound familiar?”

“Not currently,” Kirishima sighed, his body stretching into a sitting up position. “Does it to you?”

“No…” Kimiko admitted, and Kirishima could feel the worried frown on her face. “Well, I just wanted to call and give you that information. It was passed along to me, and they mentioned they hadn’t told you. And since I was going to give you the schedule for the upcoming JRA’s award day, I figured I’d let you know!”

“No problem! Let’s go over the schedule now?”

“Yes! I have a client meeting in America right after this! Can you believe it? An American celebrity wants my help?!”

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

“Okay, so this is how the day’s going to go!”

Date: 7/10 Time: 18:00 Location: Tokyo Hotel Room 101

Kirishima watched as an entire team was getting you dressed up.

Two people were doing your hair, three people doing your nails, one person doing your makeup, and five getting one of your three outfits for the night ready.

According to you, as you had strutted around in these outfits nearly two weeks ago were your red carpet and beginning of the award show outfit, your performance outfit, and of course, the after-party outfit. Each one was different, yet when adorned on your body was a perfect replica of who you were.

Most importantly, the two of you had decided to ignore every single instance of tremendous sexual energy and desire that basically leaked from both of your pores. It was for the best to ignore it. There was no point in pursuing it, especially when there was a known hunt for you, and Kirishima was the last line of defense between you and whoever it was.

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

Since the night of the initial kidnapping that finally closed the gap between you and Kirishima, there was something that the caught criminal said that stuck with him.

Everything you had coming your way, you deserved, he had said in bitter spite.

The interesting thing was that it was the lawyer who had said that, multiple times at that. The lawyer seemed to have everything to fuel him to rage against you. Everything you said or tried, the lawyer was on your heel, barking at you that it was wrong. Kirishima had also seen the contracts between you and the lawyer, and the amount that he was paid to be your attorney was not large at all.

The mass majority of the funds you earned were always funneled towards charities and organizations you trusted to help people in need — in fact, it was almost 80% of your total earnings. A meek, barely larger than 20% was split between you, your lawyer, Kimiko, your music crew, and any other unforeseen expenses. The lawyer was also in a situation where he was not in demand with clients, and if you weren’t heeding his expensive tag, he needed a new contract with you.

A contract he was always demanding to discuss with you that you denied to change.

Attacks tended to happen days after you and the lawyer tumbled, not enough to rouse suspicion if you weren’t looking, but Kirishima was. He just needed damning evidence now.

Something.

Anything.

And for some reason, his gut was screaming at him that something big was going to happen tonight, that tonight was going to be the last attack—the one to end everything.

So he had told everyone about it. Kimiko, the security at the JRA’s, even you. It made him nervous.

It made his hand sweat, the gun strapped to his thigh feeling like hot iron as he stood about as you laughed with your makeup crew.

Kirishima swore, promised, and vowed he would protect you.

He was going to.

And when the gold dress was tied to your body, fitting you beautifully, Kirishima found himself unable to look away like strands of your hair framed your temples.

“What do you think, Kiri? Will I be on the Best Dressed List?” you asked, tearing Kirishima’s attention away from the bodice and skirt of the dress. Your eyes were bright, hopeful, yearning for a positive reaction from him.

“How could you not be?” Kirishima admitted, his grin toothy, and he shifted against the wall.

“You’ll make me blush,” you grin back, eyes batting just a bit as you clasp your hands together. It takes everything in Kirishima to keep from striding across the space between the two of you and kissing you silly. “Are we ready to go?”

Kirishima wet his lips, unwillingly tearing his gaze from you, and whispers into the intercom.

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

Straightening back up, Kirishima smiled at you, his head motioning towards the door.

“Alright, y/n, let’s see you make some history?”

“Damn right I will.”

Kirishima smiled as he exited first, carving the path for you. 

Paparazzi were on you immediately, the lights flashing and terribly bright as he helped you through the throngs of them. His hand pressed to your back as they screamed demands, most of which you complied with until Kirishima stated that you would be late. You, unfortunately, couldn’t be late to the awards show.

Ushering you into the limousine, Kirishima follows in shortly after you, scrunching up in his seat as he sits opposite of you. However, your typical light and bright demeanor are gone; instead, you seem almost anxious as you open your handbag.

“You okay there?” Kirishima asks as he realizes you pulled out a distinctly obvious metal flask.

“Awards make me nervous,” you painfully admit; you're weakly smiling as you knock back a shot of the drink. “I hate winning and losing; the alcohol makes me less… of a wreck. Do you want some? I think it’s apple soju, I don’t know, a good luck gift from Kimiko.”

Kirishima grins, his eyes rolling as he decides to decline the drink. “Sorry, love, I think that I need to be completely sober for today.”

You scrunch your nose, obviously displeased, “Lame, who shows up to these awards sober?”

“Me,” Kirishima laughed, his head tilting back and scraping against the ceiling of the limousine. 

“Such a prude, sober, pervert,” you sigh, taking yet another swig before putting the flask back into your bag. 

“Such a brat.”

Just like every previous instance, your eyes seem to glow in glee at that name, your lips curling into a pleased smirk as you shrug. It's a sight that makes Kirishima’s mouth dry and heart racing. Fuck, he should not be thinking about fucking you in the limousine right now.

But before the heat in the limousine could simmer to one of undeniable boiling, you had arrived.

Kirishima cleared his throat, sending a quick wink your way as he exited the car first. The first stop was for him to join the lineup to guide you through all the different photo and interview sessions. No one wanted pictures of him emerging from the limo after all. 

There's a moment where after Kirishima closes the door, your eyes filled with worry and excitement as he winked goodbye, that things changed. He stood up, his eyes already scanning the area for anything suspicious, when he saw the all too familiar van.

T082-23.

His eyes widened, his head looking around for anyone else, but there was no one to help. No one could do anything as the car continued to drive away, disappearing from Kirishima’s line of sight. His heart hammered in his chest, and his hands instinctively went to his thigh. He had his firearm… he had it.

With nothing but a quick report to the head of security via his com, Kirishima pushed on ahead, waiting for your descent down the red carpet.

When you eventually emerged from the limousine, Kirishima found that at this moment, the entire world faded away as a gloved hand assisted you out of the vehicle. You were elegant, stunning, a realistic vibrant portrait within his world of greys. As you took photos for the cameras, he was by your side a few strides away as you talked to reporters.

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

“For all the pain in the world that she is, she’s quite charming from a distance, huh?” a voice spoke to his side, and Kirishima froze. His eyes widened completely when he noticed that standing beside him was none other than the lawyer.

The lawyer was dressed in a nice suit, glasses perched on his nose, and for the first time Kirishima had seen, the scowl was not quite so hard.

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

This was the man he was so sure was the reason behind your every attack. A man fueled by insufficient funding, a need for a new contract that would never be approved without your signature.

“What are you doing here?” Kirishima asked, subtlety never being something he was ever good with. “I’ve never seen you anywhere except to argue with Y/n about contracts. This doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to be discussing it.”

“Kimiko wanted me to give her a new contract proposal to give to y/n. However, to be fair, it’s quite easy for anything to come down to an argument with y/n,” he shrugs, and Kirishima watches a cloud of emotions pass between the man’s eyes. “At least between her and me, we’ve never gotten along, but I suppose that’s how it is for any type of family who works together.”

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

“Yes, I know it’s strange to believe. I am quite ugly, and she is not, but we’re family.”

Kirishima’s mind was racing now. It didn’t make sense. If he was family, why would he be in such pursuit of potentially murdering you? If you were family, he was sure that you would help out? If he needed a raise like he thought, wouldn’t you have helped?

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

“Kiri!” your voice broke into his mind and tore him back to reality. You waved at him, then passed a stuck-out tongue to the lawyer in a teasing fashion. “Let’s go in?”

Kirishima looked over at the lawyer who greeted a woman, who was also walking down the red carpet, a celebrity he could name no less, with a warm kiss. 

Oh fuck.

He needed to call Kimiko; he was so very wrong.

You had won two awards so far, and at this very moment, Kirishima was being ushered back to his seat in the audience as you were being escorted to the main stage to perform your latest song. You had removed your gold dress for a black, sleek gown. Your lipstick changed to a dark red, and your hands trembled in the white lace gloves you wore.

“Oh, Kiri,” you wheezed almost, your hands shaking as the announcers on stage were announcing the last awards before your performance. “I’m getting nervous. What if I mess up or sing off-key? I’d be the laughing stock!”

Kirishima laughed gently, his hands easily encompassing your waist as he stilled your frantic moves. “Y/l/n y/n, if there is anything I know for sure about you is that you are one hell of a singer and a performer. The awards you’re nominated for tonight speak for themselves! You never fail at your performances, and even if you somehow manage to sing off-key, I’m sure that no one would notice! Your biggest fan in the world won’t notice, at least.”

Not more than seven days ago, when you had cried about the impending nerves of being an artist, Kirishima had come to claim the title of being your biggest fan in the world. It had made you chuckle through your tears before coming near a hysterical laugh as the two of you held each other close.

“You’re a nut, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, hands resting on his lower ribs, but your smile was bright, warm. You paused a bit, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll sing just for you then, but I think I should take another swig of that soju.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Could you tell that Takeyama is completely drunk off her ass?”

“...she’s drunk?!”

“Exactly, I’ll be fine,” you breathe, taking a new smaller flask from the purse Kirishima was holding for you and taking the final swig. Your face contorts at the bitter liquid. “Ew, Kimiko really fucked me over with this one. Why is it blue?! Have you ever seen blue apple soju?!”

“No?” Kirishima startled, his eyes looking at the indeed splash of blue liquid tainting a small part of your gloves. “Who gave you that one? What happened with the other flask of yours?”

“Oh, Kimiko sent it along after I lost my other one; it’s her own flask,” you said before the backstage crew whisked you away to begin your set, and without you, Kirishima was sent to the audience.

Kirishima felt trapped as he was ushered into his seat, his eyes scanning the entire audience for something suspicious, a familiar face perhaps. His broad shoulders continued to bump into his neighbors, their disgruntled noises doing nothing to stop his worry.

“And now, Y/n,” came the strong voice of the male announcer, and the light dimmed.

Kirishima watched as the spotlight came down upon you, a golden halo of colors against your darkened gown as the instrumentals began to play in the background. And he saw you take a step forward, the building motifs suddenly silencing when you finally sang the first note.

Despite the panic arising in Kirishima, the unknown of who was behind it all, what was going to happen, he stilled at the unmatched strength and ambiance of your voice.

You sang as you did at every stage, to every audience.

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

And then, with one last sound, one last melody, and your hand holding your microphone dropped. Your chest heaving, tears falling down your face, and the roar of the audience was silent. You looked through the audience, unable to see, but for some reason, you just knew where Kirishima was.

You smile.

But as the looming sounds begin to fill your ear again, you find that the world is hazy.

You swallow, eyes unfocused as you bowed, hurrying to leave the stage.

Kirishima watched as you took a final stumbling step off the stage, something he felt was going to be written off as you stepped on your dress. But his mind whirled.

The lawyer felt like a setup; the contracts made no sense, the blue soju.

How were they related?

What connected them?

“Oh, fuck,” Kirishima whispered, horrified, and immediately his finger pressed to his earpiece. “Find Y/n! Now!”

Kirishima was racing through the back of the venue, the announcers' voices still ringing through the dirty, bleak hallways. You had just won but was written off as being somewhere backstage; after all, the show must go on.

Voices screamed in his earpiece, each declining to have found you. No one had seen you after you stepped off the stage. No one knew who had taken you.

Kirishima noticed the doors closing at the end of the hallway, and with a dreading sense of doom, Kirishima removed the gun from his harness. And with the devil on his heels, he ran.

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

You were passed out, draped limp, confused, and woozy against Kimiko’s body, and two men knocked unconscious beside them. To anyone else, it looked as if Kimiko had saved you, some guardian angel within this world, but if Kirishima’s gut meant anything, he knew better.

“Kirishima-san!’ Kimiko squeaked as Kirishima raised his gun, his body tense, unwilling to take a chance on her. “I don’t know what those two were doing! I was saving her, I swear!”

“Don’t do this, Kimiko,” Kirishima whispered, his head shaking. “I figured it out.”

There was a shift in Kimiko’s face at that; the scared unknowing hero melted into one of anger, resentment, one of someone who knew they had been outed.

“So, you figured it out,” she bitterly spoke, her arms that were supporting you from behind revealing to be a firearm of your own. “I didn’t expect you to.”

“I can’t say I figured out your reasoning; honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me, but I felt like it was you,” Kirishima carefully states, his heart roaring at the implied danger of the firearm against your chin. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kimiko.”

Kimiko stares, her lips forming a small o before changing into one of a large, near unattached grin.

“Anything stupid? If anyone is doing anything stupid, it's this selfish prick!” Kimiko spits, her arms tightening around you, making you whimper ever so gently in pain. “She thinks she’s so great, so rich, so smart! Just because she wastes most of her money on stupid shit like charity! Everyone thinks working for her is a dream, but they’re all blind idiots!”

Kirishima’s eyes widen as he notices the glazed, unfocused of your eyes as you shift your attention over to him. Were you listening?

“What’s wrong with the contract?” he asks, a small attempt to diffuse the situation.

“The fact she pays me next to nothing, and yet she works me half to death!”

“You have multiple clients, don’t you?” Kirishima splutters, unsure as to what was wrong. “Why is this one contract so important you wanted to frame her lawyer?!”

Kimiko laughs; it’s pitchy, almost hysterical as she bends over, your body slumping further onto the floor. “That was a lie! All a fucking lie! Do you know that I knew no one when I first started? Y/n is a name everyone wants. I don’t need to do anything to get her things! The world wants her! But the other clients? None of them stayed, none of them wanted me past a month! The salary was okay when she was a snot-nosed brat, but ten years later?! NO! She won’t fucking listen. She never fucking listens to anything but herself! So she has the option to give me the eighty percent, or fucking die here!”

Suddenly the gun in Kirishima’s hand feels like a ton, the skin on the back of his neck crawling and slicking with sweat.

“You know how much those charities mean to her,” Kirishima whispers. “She won’t do it.”

Kimiko trembles for a second, her arm holding the firearm lowering as she looks at the wall, shaking.

“Oh my god… you’re right,” Kimiko realizes, horror and uncertainty flashing across her face. “I guess… she has to die, oh my god, she has to die.”

At that moment, the world slowed down, and Kirishima swore he could see the atoms, the electricity flowing through the space between them. Kimiko’s arm holding the gun raising back up to your temple, her smile detached, horrific yet gleeful.

His body trembled as he doubted himself, his mind unsure if the finger on the trigger was going to be strong enough to fire away. Could he do it?

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

Kirishima raised his arm, his focus blaring, his past just for a moment, forgotten.

BANG!

“The effects of the rohypnol have already worn out. Thankfully she wasn’t given a whole pill. If she experiences any nausea or throws up, please bring her back, should anything else happen, she’ll be okay.”

The words of the doctor rang in Kirishima’s ears. For tonight, they were going to be discharging you to him. Thankfully, it was all happening in Tokyo, so Kirishima’s apartment was near, and if Bakugou was true to his word, it was clean.

With the help of hospital security, he had managed to get your tuxedo concealed body into a car, and the two of you rode off to his apartment. You’ve been silent the entire time, eyes downcasted as you sit pressed to his side, feeling like a small child compared to him. You knew that he was much larger than you, a near two feet taller, but this felt unmatched. 

Kirishima’s jacket was warm around you, it’s sheer largeness another dress on your body, and despite the horrific turn of events, you were feeling warm. You couldn’t remember much of what transpired after stumbling off stage, but you did remember Kirishima bursting through the doors, a look of anger and fear blistering off his person in such a way that made you whimper when you remembered.

You remembered the onsen basically every night, cursing your stupid makeup team for interrupting a night that definitely would have ended with you fucking Kirishima. You cursed yourself for being a coward and not just saying fuck it and fucking him afterward despite the brief awkwardness.

He wanted you, it was clear as day, and you wanted him as well.

Tonight.

“Sorry about how small my apartment is, or if it’s messy, I don’t actually know if my friends have been keeping up with it,” Kirishima apologized, guiding you into the apartment by the small of your back. “You’ll be safe here tonight, and I promise we can get back to your own place tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” you smile, feeling flushed as you cross the entryway to the apartment. His apartment, despite not being home in so long, is clean. The halls aren’t messy, and a hint of lavender is saturated to the air. The dim hallway lights were barely bright enough to cause you to squint as it was dark out. “Thank you for having me tonight, especially after everything.”

At the hospital, you had been given a pair of sweats and a cotton t-shirt. The change in outfit from your event dress was definitely needed, and even though you were sure your makeup was streaked down your face, you felt good hidden in the depths of Kirishima’s jacket.

“Are you hungry?” Kirishima asked, handing over his guest slippers, which you gratefully accepted. “I might have some microwaveable food leftover.”

“Ramen doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit as Kirishima unbuttons the first few buttons on his white dress shirt. You were instantly captivated by the movement, your eyes shifting back to his face when he began to walk off towards the kitchen.

Kirishima talked warmly, keeping the conversation going merrily and bright throughout the entire time in the kitchen. He undoubtedly knew you weren’t entirely okay, and at moments like this, you were entirely grateful for his sweet personality. 

To be fair, you knew that you had been quite unfair to Kirishima in the beginning. Looking back at the first entire month of knowing him, you were horrified and impressed that Kirishima didn’t demand to be dropped. You had been selfish, stubborn, a bottom line brat, and he took it day after day. It wasn’t that you disliked him back then; hell, you had been in a near state of delirium when he entered the door during your first meeting because you had no idea such huge men existed to the caliber of his hotness.

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

It was okay now; after all, if he was genuinely bitter about that entire month still, the onsen said otherwise.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to be filled with warm broth, soft boiled eggs, and ramen noodles. Kirishima did, in fact, have ramen, fresh eggs, and some vegetables. In a grand act of preparing you the most sufficient dinner he could, Kirishima presented this under budget ramen and laughed when you said it was terrific.

But it was growing late.

The two of you still sat at his table that was full of a card game, your empty ramen bowls, and cups of water. The clock on the oven read 23:38, and the city lights were slowly dying.

“Are you ready for bed?” Kirishima eventually asked you. 

You looked up from your joined hands; your fingers had been playing with his thick and long fingers for some time now. The apartment grew steadily quieter as you studied and attempted to memorize each callous and scar on his hands. They were definitely marked and nicked, the sign of the warrior he once was.

“Depends on the bed,” you tease, lips rising into a small smile as you compare your much tinier hands than his. Your fingertips barely passed the edge of his palm. “What does a big guy like you sleep in? A twin? Tatami mat?”

Kirishima laughed, his hands twisting in yours, wrapping it around so that he raised your hands up to press a kiss to the center of your palms. 

“A futon, brat,” Kirishima explained, his smile small but sharp with his humor. “Let’s get you to bed?”

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

“I’m sure your stuffing in a trash bag had holes in it.”

“That’s okay,” Kirishima laughed, standing up and quickly taking you to your feet as well. “It’s just for a night, I’ll live.”

Your face warmed immediately as he guided you down the hallway of his apartment before finally coming into what was definitely his room.

Kirishima’s scent was faint in this room, cinnamon, wood, and warm spices. It made your eyes flutter as you observed his room from the entryway as he began to set up the room. 

His eye for interior decoration was quite… different. You smiled brightly as you glanced around; the diverse and rather boyish decorations around the room warmed your heart. It seemed exactly like what you would think of for Kirishima. 

“Well, that’s all!” Kirishima exclaimed, his hands landing on his hips in triumph as he looked around. “The bathroom is the next door over, and I’ll leave a toothbrush out for you. I also left out a new t-shirt of mine if you want to change!”

You nod some more, watching as Kirishima seems unsure of what to do next. He looks around, coughs a bit before nodding.

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

“Um, can we talk?” you interrupt, arms wrapping around your body. “I have some things I want to say.”

“Oh, sure!”

“You can sit,” you say, motioning toward the bed. “I have a few things to get off my chest.”

Kirishima pauses for a bit, his eyes looking you over before he eventually nods, and he sits down. The bed slightly creaks under his weight, and you feel your body warm-up at the sound. You want to hear the bed creak more, to rock under the weight of you and him pressed against the sheets as you cried his name.

“What is it?” he asks gently, observing you.

“I just…” you huff, words failing you, your tongue feeling heavy. “I wanted to say thank you for saving me.”

“It was my job to do that,” Kirishima smiled warmly, his arms crossing again.

He was relaxed.

“I mean, I can’t even begin to believe that it was Kimiko who was behind all that, even though we know it was… I know it was,” you trail off, shivering slightly as you remember your ex-managers demented laugh in your ear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Nothing would’ve happened to you,” Kirishima spoke with finality. “I promised to myself at the first meeting I was going to protect you, hell the entire world would. You’re not going to be taken down by pathetic people like that, not you.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I feel like I should repay you in some way, though,” you rub the back of your neck, eyes fluttering just the slightest bit flirtatious. Kirishima looked at you with full mooned eyes, his arms unfolding and his palms resting onto the bedspread.

“You repay me plenty already,” came his whispered answer, so quiet, so pure you almost smiled. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Your tongue pushes past your lip, wetting the drying skin as you take a step toward him. The shoulders of the jacket slowly fall from your own shoulders, pooling just above your elbows as you stop before him, hands resting daintily on his broad shoulders.

“And what if I want something?” you ask, finding yourself stemming with energy as his legs part, allowing you closer access to him. 

You step in closer and closer until your outer thighs are ghosting against the inner part of his.

“I think it’s in our contract for me to do everything that you request if I remember correctly,” Kirishima whispers, his bright clear red eyes turning a burnt shade: dark and ever consuming. 

“And if I want you to finish what you started over at the onsen?” you press, fingers curling against the muscles of his shoulders before locking behind his neck.

His nose was brushing against yours, cold yet burning against your own skin.

“I’ll gladly show you what I wanted to do that night,” he grunts, eyes deadly, and for the first time, his hands held your waist.

You took a second to recover, your skin sparking with the electricity of his touch, and you suppressed a shiver as you opened your eyes.

“Do it,” you cement your fates, “coward.”

And just like that, in a movement so euphoric, Kirishima’s mouth crashed against yours.

His mouth was hot, dangerous against yours -- a live wire sparking with uncontrollable energy and heat as your mouths danced. Hot puffs of air were passed between your mouths, your fingers shaking with an undeniable release of tension and want. 

The kiss was sloppy, desperate, so needy with unspoken frantic determination to fuck each other until the other could no longer move. 

Kirishima’s hand removed the jacket from your arms, letting the expensive material fall onto the floor with a heavy thud. Despite the lack of warmth the clothing provided, the feeling of Kirishima’s hands rubbing against your bare arms sent your mind spiraling.

“Get on the bed,” Kirishima commands against your mouth. “Let me fuck you.”

The words were nearly embarrassingly desperate, but the tone of his voice spoke of the absolute domination he wished to assert on you. He wanted you in one exact way, and you had a feeling you knew what it was. But if he had been paying attention, Kirishima should already know that getting you to listen was not easy.

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

Kirishima pulls away instantly, his lips red and swollen as he replays your word in his head. He looks frazzled, absolutely delirious already at the simple, passion-filled makeout. As soon as his eyes clear away the fog, your grin drops, and instead, you look at him with fierce determination and defiance. 

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

Your chest feels light, your head spinning as the hands on your waist tighten, and his eyes flash dangerously. The tip of his tongue pushes past his lips before quickly disappearing again. 

“Of course, you’re a brat in bed too, such a fucking princess,” Kirishima shakes his head, but his mouth curving into a shark-like grin. 

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

The world spins faster than you can keep up, your mouth opening to shriek as Kirishima easily lifts you up, and has you lying against his lap. 

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, princess,” Kirishima begins, his large fingers hooking into the waistband of the sweats you have on and the panties you’re wearing. “My princess gets rewards for being good. If she can behave properly, she gets to be fucked with dick, her pussy gets to be fucked just the way she pleases.”

You can’t help but stifle a moan that threatens to spill out with his words and the way his hands move down the curve of your ass, exposing the naked skin to him. The waistband of both your panties and sweats stay high up your thighs, and it’s almost embarrassing to know you’re still so clothed despite what’s to come.

“And just what does the Sergeant do to bad girls?” you ask, unable to keep your tongue down, your hips rolling against his lap in undeserved friction.

Unexpectedly, abruptly, a hand comes down harshly onto your bare ass.

The contact is rough, stinging against your ass as you cry out in slight pain.

The hand not currently rubbing a warning circle into your ass twists the hair at the top of your head, lifting your head up so that your ear could near his mouth.

“Bad girls get punishments. They get what I want to give them. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Holy shit,” you whimper, heat flaring between your thighs at the thought of Kirishima doing anything to you regardless of if you were good or bad. You rut your ass back against his hand, longing for a heavier touch, a plea for something more.

“What does the princess want?”

“Nothing,” you bite, and the crashing smack of another spank has you moaning loudly at the stinging pleasure-filled pain. 

“You moaning like a whore at a simple spank says otherwise,” Kirishima chuckles darkly, his fingers pinching your stinging ass as your body bucks against him. He spanks you again, again, and again. Each slap is intentful, powerful, wanting to get you to admit what you want, and you cry against your hands each time, your eyes fluttering as the pain feels good. 

“Of course, a slut like you would be getting off on this,” Kirishima seems amused, his thick finger pressing to the slit of your cunt, spreading your dripping essence against your cunt. He presses against your entrance with just the tip of his finger, and you shriek in a sound for more, your hips jerking backward to get his finger into you, to fuck you with those thick fingers to do something about the growing desperate heat. 

“Kirishima!” you scream, your body sweating and twisting on his lap, desperate to find some way to get him to finger fuck you. 

“Ah, there we go,” he sighs in delight as his fingers swirl at your entrance, increasing the teasing and making your mind spin. “Tell me what you want, brat.”

“You!” you wail, two of his fingers carting between your wet, sloppy heated lips. They graze your clit, stimulating you further as you can do nothing but instinctively jerk against his hold, trying to get him to give you the needed pleasure to build up to an orgasm. “I want you to fuck me so good! Please, Sergeant, please, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember anything but your name.”

“But you haven’t proven to be a good princess,” Kirishima tuts, his hands disappearing from your pussy despite your crying pleas. His hand grabs your ass, though, massaging the abused skin, grasping it tightly.

You moan, embarrassed at the sensation of his massive hand easily cupping your ass cheek, your fingers fisting into the fabric of his pants as you shake your head.

“Are you going to prove that you’re good?” he asks you, his tone like that of a parent chastising a child. “Gonna prove to me that you can be good?”

You shake pathetically against his legs, but you can’t keep yourself from shaking your head. You can’t prove to him that you would be.

“I can’t!” you whimper loudly, your body twisting on his lap to look up at him, your eyes filled with tears and pleading need. Kirishima looked down at you with lust filled eyes and an undeniable need to be followed.

“You can’t?” he repeats, his head tilting, eyes narrowing, and his fingers dug into your ass. “Or you won’t?”

You tremble on top of him, unable to answer because you weren’t ready to hand over the reins just yet. You didn’t want to submit so fast, you wanted to make his own head dizzy with need but the stubbornness to continue punishing you the way he was promising.

“I won’t,” you gasp, eyes fluttering at the way he finally drops your head.

You gasp loudly as you find him shoving you off his lap, and with your panties and sweats sitting so awkwardly high on your legs, you find yourself tumbling off his lap and onto the floor.

“Guess if you don’t want to behave, I’ll treat you like some fucking pussy pocket and dispose of you once I’m done,” Kirishima easily breathes, and you look up at the now standing man as he tears his shirt off.

Your mouth waters, your cunt throbbing at the sight of the rippling muscles and dark lines of his tattoos on his upper body. You watch fascinated, like one does to a masterpiece, as he undresses until he’s in nothing but his socks. And at the sight of his dick, you can feel at once all the blood in your flushed face drop directly into your throbbing cunt.

He was fucking enormous, his girth barely fitting into his hand, and the angry red head spilled its precum against his abs. A black happy trail connecting Kirishima’s abs to his vein throbbing cock.

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

Kirishima doesn’t ask any questions as he watches your awkwardly dressed state of a body on the floor. His head is tilted upwards, a small pleased smile on his face as he looks down on you, his hand slowly, leisurely fisting his cock as you can do nothing but stare.

You make some insane noise at the back of your throat at this sight, your thighs trembling with need, and you're pushing off your side, your ass burning, and your balance off as you open your mouth, offering all you could to him.

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

He’s much too tall for you to suck him off on your knees, so he sits back down onto the bed, letting you scamper between his legs, mouth open wide like some needy pet.

“Such a good little slut,” Kirishima sighs, sinking his cock into your wet, hot mouth. “Such a fucking cockwhore, all it took was a single glance for you to lose your will.”

You whine against his dick, your jaw tight with the stretch, your tongue lapping so desperately around the cock that was no more than halfway in yet couldn’t go in any further.

“Suck me right, and I’ll reward you by fucking that pretty little pussy of yours,” Kirishima grunts, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck as he ruts his hips up into your mouth, shoving his cock even further into your mouth. “And don’t you dare look away from me while you suck me off.”

It feels like fire.

His cock driving down your throat hurts, the taste of his salty pre-cum slathering all over your tongue and dripping out of your mouth with the saliva you can’t control. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you continue to bob your head, continue to fuck him with your throat as animalistic, praiseworthy noises begin spilling from Kirishima’s mouth.

You whimper at the sight of his head dipping back, and you nearly whine when he shoves the fingers he had gathered your juices on into his mouth. He moans at the contact and with his pleasure with your actions so obvious as you choke against his girth. That was hot, holy fuck, you wanted him to fuck you, please fuck you. 

Your eyes close as he begins to fuck faster into your mouth, his delight in hearing you choke around him his driving force. Tears start pouring from your eyes despite your best efforts, your throat and inner thighs burning with lust and need as Kirishima groans, his cock twitching deep in your throat.

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

You gag harshly as your cheeks sting with his heavy slap, your teeth grazing underneath his cock, right against a thick, twisting vein.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” Kirishima practically growls, his hands grasping the back of your neck, the other one slapping you across the face yet again. “No. I said… fuck… I said, keep your eyes on me!”

Tears weep down your face, your eyes struggling to keep focus on him as he continued to fuck deep and intensely into your mouth, shoving himself further into you until you could feel his thighs grazing your chin. Oxygen wasn’t flowing anymore; your gags and chokes the only time the burning element could manage to flow through you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to care. He seems to delight in the way you are, despite it all, are moaning and looking at him in a pleading way for more.

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

Kirishima pulls his still hard, not yet cummed, dick out of your mouth and stands. 

You splutter with the sudden intake of oxygen to your lungs, burning you from the inside out as you splutter on the ground.

“W-What’s going on?” you hoarsely stammer, your jaw and throat aching from its prolonged abuse. “E-Ei?”

However, Kirishima seems dead set on getting you naked, and you squeal in flustered excitement as he rips the shirt off of you and his mouth pressing against yours again. His mouth crashes against yours, and you moan into his mouth immediately.

His tongue curls into your mouth and your tongues press and rub against each other. Each passing second growing more desperate, needier, more intense as your clothes are ripped one by one off your body.

“Holy fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Kirishima nearly whines, his mouth trailing down your neck, biting and sucking against every centimeter of skin he passed. “Wanted to fuck you against the wall, in my bed, and now I get to do that.”

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you beg, your voice bordering a wail as your arms wrap around his neck, letting him lift you up off the floor. Despite you being so much smaller than him that when he held you to him, your cunt wasn’t pressed to his angry leaking cock, you continued to desperately roll your hips against his abs, the friction welcomed and easing the building pressure. It was an action conveying just what you wanted. “I need you in me, Sergeant!”

“Just cuz… holy fuck,” Kirishima breathes ragged, his body twisting around, and you cried when the cold sheets pressed into your back. “Imma fuck you, Imma… god, just fucking watch.”

Your head thrashed back onto the pillow as Kirishima’s teeth sunk into your collarbone, then captured your sensitive nipples, his fingers dancing against your clit and teasing your center. 

“Now!” you cry, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Put it in!”

This time, Kirishima didn’t need to be told twice.

His larger body was suddenly pressed entirely against yours, dwarfing you immediately as your arms wrapped around his back as his cock slammed into you. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your pussy stretched beyond its typical limits by his girth, his size, his power.

Your cunt throbbed around him, your face buried within his pecs as you, despite the searing pain, shove your hips up towards him. Fucking into him, sucking him further into you.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima groans, “you’re amazing.”

“Talk less, fuck me more!” you screech, your body spasming, twitching so hard from the splitting pleasure and the lava pit in your stomach, and Kirishima does that exactly.

His hips begin to meet yours in equaled power, slamming into you so that the bed creaked beneath you. He fucked you until he had to hold a hand on your hip so you could stay there, and you kept a hand on the wall to continue to push yourself down onto his cock.

You screamed with pleasure, cried for more, Kirishima’s shark-like smirk getting bolder, darker, hotter with every slam of his hips until his tattooed right arm shot down. His hand wrapped around your throat, choking you.

“You’re so loud, princess,” Kirishima moans, clearly liking your loud noises, “but you’re going to wake everyone in Tokyo.”

His hand around your throat is enough to have your legs trembling around his waist, your choked and muffled moans and splutters drowning out even more as he pressed a kiss onto you. He kissed you, licking your mouth, and devouring your every word and thought. Your core twisted, tightened, and burned. It throbbed and clenched with it’s impending orgasm, and your body began to tense to the heavens as his cock throbbed deep within you.

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

“Who’s going to fucking cum when I tell her to?”

“Me! Fuck, me!”

Kirishima laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist, and in one final, fleeting burst of strength, fucks into you with his own power, needs, and desire, and you can only take it. “Cum, princess,” he whispered almost sweetly against the top of your head, and it was all over. Your teeth sink into his chest as you scream, a blinding white light erupting through your vision as you cum around his cock.

Kirishima whimpers, his cock still pushing deep into your cunt, until you can feel the warm spill of his seed in your womb.

He collapses to the side of you, taking you with him so that you were resting on his sweaty chest.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered after a bit, your body already warm and too lethargic to notice the star-like tone to his voice. “That was fucking… holy shit.”

“Does this mean you like me?” you half tease, half wonder.

There’s a pause, a silence, and you wonder if maybe he had fallen asleep.

But he didn’t.

“I’ve been in love with you for some time now, I think,” he admits, his hand beginning to rub small circles into your back.

You find that despite the exhaustion, warmth floods your cheeks.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to discuss a more… permanent and maybe different contract tomorrow morning, huh?”

Kirishima chuckles, and you find yourself smiling into his chest.

“I think we do.”

[reciprocityfic]

Aww I want them all! But okay, let's start with 1. A conversation you wish had happened in canon. For AmyxLaurie

1. a conversation you wish had happened in canon.

“I’m not marrying Fred.”

She tries to say it nonchalantly, void of emotion so as to not reveal the anxiety churning in her gut, but she’s afraid that the slight tremble in her voice betrays her. She tries to take a breath to ground herself, but the air that leaves her lungs comes out unsteadily.

She waits for him to answer - to say something, but he doesn’t respond right away. She wonders if he’s finding out for the first time. She meant to write him after she turned down the proposal, but hadn’t yet; everything seemed to be happening so fast, and she hadn’t yet had the chance to gather up the nerve.

But it’s possible he found out still, she supposes. She heard Fred left for London soon after she turned him down, and he and Laurie run in the same social circle, the kind that thrives on any piece of gossip. Someone could’ve very well told him.

But he keeps his mouth shut, and even though she knows it’s only been a few moments since she spoke, his silence seems to stretch on and on. It allows enough time for her thoughts to swirl around in her brain, for her heart to twist itself into knots.

Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe time away from you cleared his head, made him realize that you were simply a substitute for Jo.

She feels the need to clarify suddenly; she doesn’t want to force him into anything, make him do something he’ll regret just to spare her feelings.

“I heard about that,” he says carefully, and she hears him somewhere in the back of her mind. But she’s already turned towards him, words pushing at her lips.

“And you are under no obligation to say anything, or do anything,” she assures him, trying to insert some sort of confidence behind her words, but she can’t quite muster it as she stares at her feet.

She takes another deep breath, exhaling audibly. She can’t do this without being honest, she realizes, without laying her heart bare to him. She suddenly thinks of how hard it must have been for him, to propose to Jo, to reveal his affection for her in the garden those weeks ago.

“I just didn’t love him as I should.”

Not as I love you, she almost tells him, but she bites her tongue. She’s trying, but she’s not quite brave enough to say it plainly like that. Not now, when everything is still so uncertain.

Again, he doesn’t say anything, and oh, he has changed his mind, hasn’t he? Surely he would’ve interrupted her by now if he still wanted her, given her some sort of response. She can feel his eyes on her even though she continues to look away from him. He’s probably trying to figure out a way to tell her no, she decides, and scrambles to save face, letting out another breath.

“So we don’t need to talk about it, we don’t need to say anything -”

He kisses her.

He kisses her, hard, and she can’t process it for a moment. She feels his mouth against hers, his hand cradling her face, the warmth of his body against her own, but she can’t put it all together. Can’t comprehend what’s happening to her.

But then, oh, he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, moves his head upward slightly and tugs on it, and she’s aware of everything - the press of his nose against hers, each of his fingers against her cheek, burning their pattern into her skin. He’s everywhere, all over her, and she softens, melts into him as she kisses him back.

His free arm wraps around her waist, pulls her more closely against him, lifting her onto her tiptoes as she searches for his mouth. She wishes they could stay in this moment forever. That she could live here, wrapped in his arms, warm from head to toe as his lips move in time with hers. But that’s not practical, she supposes, and after a few moments more they separate, both of them out of breath in the most wonderful way.

“Amy,” he murmurs.

Her eyes are closed, but the corners of her lips turn up when she hears him say her name.

“Amy,” he beckons again, and she opens her eyes, finds him staring back at her with an expression so tender and loving that tears well in her eyes. “Are you listening?”

She nods, and he crouches down just slightly, so he can look more directly into her eyes.

“I love you,” he tells her. “You have to know that. You must know that I love you. With my entire heart and soul, I love you.”

“You do?” she asks, her breath catching in her throat. A part of her still can’t believe it, despite his proposal and the kiss they just shared. The part of her that had resigned itself to only being able to love him from afar, that had become so used to him always looking at Jo whenever she was looking at him.

“Yes,” he says, a breathless laugh leaving him as the arm around her waist tightens and his other arm moves from her face to circle her shoulders as he pulls her into a firm hug. “Yes. I love everything about you - your laugh and your eyes, your voice. The way your brow furrows and lips purse when you paint or sketch, and then the way you step back and smile when you’ve done something you think is good. How your eyes light up when you look at the art in museums. I love how much you love your family. I love the woman you’ve become, but I also love how I can still see that same Amy I’ve always known peek out sometimes, especially when you’re happy or excited.”

She presses her face into the crook of his neck, inhales him, and can’t help the tears that spill over as she listens to him speak.

“I love the way you inspire me and make me want to be more, for both myself and for others. I love spending time with you - just being beside you is the greatest pleasure I’ve ever known. I love you, Amy March, your heart and your spirit and your mind and your soul. Everything you are, everything that you’ve become and will become. I love you.”

He lets her go and takes a small step back, grabs one of her hands in his and uses the other to wipe away the dampness that’s collected on her face.

“I love you, too” she whispers to him, turning into his palm and speaking into his skin.

“You’re not...you’re not a replacement for Jo,” he declares ardently, holding her gaze. “And you’re not second - not when it comes to me. Not to anything or anyone, but especially not to her. I’ve loved Jo - I’ll always love Jo - but what I felt for her is not the same as this. This is better, and it’s stronger, and it’s more - so much more. And I never want it to end. I want to spend the rest of my life with it.”

He closes the space between them once again, kisses her forehead and then her cheek.

“Amy,” he says, and then he bends down, gets on one knee in the green grass at her feet. He takes both of her hands.

“I know so, so much has happened, and there’s been so much pain and heartbreak, but nothing would make me happier than knowing that I get to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. And I don’t have any kind of plan or a ring, but I do have myself and my heart and my love, and I’m willing to give them all to you, if you’ll have them. They’re already yours. So, Amy March - Amy Curtis March - will you marry me?”

And it’s the easiest decision she’s ever made. She can’t keep the smile off her face, and he smiles back at her when he realizes - the most brilliant smile she’s ever seen on him. He’s so beautiful that she could cry again, if she let herself.

He stands up at the same time that she reaches down and pulls at him. She kisses him first this time, and his hands wander over her body, moving across her shoulders and down her back before looping back up. He curls his palm around the back of her neck, buries the other one in her neatly pinned-up hair. They separate when they need to breathe, but they don’t go far, their mouths still resting together, smiles turning up their lips.

And she whispers against him, “Yes.”

send me a number and a pairing (preferably laurie x amy) and i'll write you a mini fic!

[jolalibrary]

hi jo! firstly, thank you for being such a positive kind influence in the community, you deserve all the love!

secondly, pls don’t feel pressured to answer if you wouldn’t like to, genuinely!

but i was wondering if you have any advice for writers on here that severely lack getting feedback from readers. i can’t help but feel extremely discouraged receiving virtually no comments (no matter how small) about my works when i post them. it’s a bit disheartening and it’s starting to affect my confidence in my writing, especially when numbers/notes don’t mean anything to me. i know that creativity and skill is not reflected by any parameters on social media whatsoever, but i just can’t help but self-doubt when i feel really proud about a work yet receive no feedback.

thank you for taking the time to read and i genuinely appreciate you < 3

hiii, that’s so sweet. I’m not sure what I’ve done, but I thoroughly appreciate it! thank you so much! 🩷

I shall be completely honest, I am not entirely sure how to answer or what answer I can provide. but as always, I shall give it my best go:

getting people to engage is a tricky thing, and something unfortunately you can’t make happen. on some occasions, it’s instant and with others it takes time. I know stories that have had so much interaction in the comments but then on others there’s been none—and they’re written by the same person. equally, even some of my pieces get very few comments and then others get a lot. so it’s difficult.

my first advice on what you can do to help is consider making sure your piece indicates what you’d like someone to do. sometimes people are scared/nervous, because they don’t want to do it wrong. so if you haven’t, adding a simple “If you can let me know your thoughts in the comments, be much appreciated” shows an indication that you warrant that kind of feedback.

if you’re already doing that and still struggling, I recommend seeing if you can reach out to some friends or writers you admire and create a ‘buddy’ group. this way you can share amongst one another your works, give each other feedback (and also then scream at one another about plots and characters). by creating a circle for yourself, it can make it feel less like you’re shouting into a void, and at least then if interaction is slow, you know there’s someone more than you who is invested in your story. if that’s something you feel would benefit you.

I had a group like this for a different thing and it was ahhhmazing. we bounced off one another, but we were also one another’s cheerleaders (and that’s such a nice feeling).

lastly, you love your story, right? remind yourself of that. something I’ve told a friend to do is before they upload and share it, copy and paste quotes or passages that they love from their work. put it in a fresh document somewhere just for you. and, when you begin to feel disheartened, remember the beauty in which you created. put it in a cool font, add it into a graphic (if you make them) or just have it in a format that tells your brain it isn’t on tumblr or where else you post.

I know it’s cliche, but the person who has to love your work first, is you. and while I know it’s disheartening (like honestly, you’re not alone in it), and unfortunately there isn’t a spell I can cast or a bit of helpful advice that I can offer to let you know what makes people interact.

and while I know I said this on the “be kind” post, but I like the phrasing. you just haven’t found your people, and that takes time. and by that I mean, the people who love your work, the words, the places, the descriptions you create—not just the character or fandom.

again, I am not entirely sure if this has been helpful. I feel i give such poopy advice and I’m so sorry if it is. but just know it’s okay to feel whatever you feel, just don’t let it smush out your flame (if you can help it) 🩷✨

equally, if anyone has any advice, please drop it below. I am very aware I am not that good at the advice hahaha!

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol consumption, allusions to sex

A/N: so you know how last chapter i said there was going to be like 4 chapters left…sorry i lied. as much as it pains me to admit since i’m so attached to this little family, i feel this story is coming to its natural end and i don’t want to drag it out (i may do one-shots of this series in the future though!) that being said, this is the second to last chapter. i appreciate all of your continued support throughout this series <3

Masterlist

Chapter 36

You opened the front door to the house after your therapy appointment. You had been making a lot of progress.

Spencer and the kids used to go with you and then wait at the park across the street until you were done but you had decided that this time you could go alone. Spencer hugged you tightly before you left and said how proud of you he was, reminding you of your calming exercises for the waiting room, and to call him if you got too overwhelmed. Luckily, your anxiety had not gotten the better of you and your appointment went fine.

You could hear the opening notes to Golden by Harry Styles playing. Once the beat dropped, you heard Spencer say, “Okay, go babies, go!”

You rounded the corner to see Spencer conducting a dance party for the twins in their bouncy jumpers and Jo who was wearing her Rapunzel dress.

“Ollie,” Spencer crouched down to the rather stationary baby, “Look at your sisters! See, copy them! We’ll all bounce.”

While Ophelia was very audible and energetic, Ollie was more reserved. This concerned you and Spencer a bit because he would hardly cry and you had no idea what was going on with him or if he needed anything.

As Spencer backed up to start dancing as well, you pulled out your phone and hit record just in time to see Spencer accidentally bounce into the couch and trip and fall flat on his face.

Ollie giggled. Spencer shot up from the ground. Ollie had never done that before. Ophelia’s first laugh was a few weeks ago but nothing seemed to be funny enough for Ollie until his Daddy fell.

Spencer scrambled to get his phone, “Jo, can you record for Mommy? I’m going to fall again.”

You decided this was the time to make your presence known.

“That won’t be necessary,” you announced with a smile, ending the video you took.

“You heard?” Spencer beamed.

“Yep, got it on video too,” you walked over to the jumpers and lifted up Ollie, giving him a bunch of kisses, “You were really going to hurt yourself again just so I could have a video of our son laughing?”

“Absolutely, I was,” he grinned.

“You’re an idiot,” you chuckled.

“You’re the one who fell in love with an idiot,” he replied.

“I guess that makes us both idiots then,” you sighed happily.

“But idiots in love,” he kissed you.

You blew a raspberry and tickled Ollie’s little belly and he started giggling hysterically again.

-

Spencer was with twins on the floor on a blanket doing some ‘tummy time’ while Jo sat on the couch watching cartoons.

“Why can’t me and the babies come with you and Mommy for dinner like we usually do?” Jo asked.

“Because a year ago today, Mommy and I got married so we want to go out to a fancy restaurant and celebrate our love for each other. But, we’ll go out together as a family soon again and Uncle Derek and Auntie Penelope will be watching you tonight.”

“Okay,” Jo instantly agreed.

You clicked down the stairs in your high heels, carefully holding the railing. Spencer stood to help and offered his hand to you for support.

You were dressed in a midi A-line black corset dress with a white floral design.

“You look absolutely stunning as usual, my love,” he kissed your hand.

“As do you, my husband of officially a year,” you beamed.

He kissed you on the lips this time as the door opened.

“Kids night!” Penelope exclaimed, running into the house with Derek in tow. “I brought board games, ice cream, and every Disney movie DVD I own.”

“Auntie Penelope!” Jo hugged her and then Derek.

Then, Penelope turned to you both, “What are you guys still doing here?”

“Emergency numbers are on the fridge. We’ll both have our phones on the whole time,” you repeated the information you had told them many times before as you were pushed out the door by Penelope.

“Oh, also recent development!” Spencer added as he tried to resist Derek’s pushing, “The twins are avid crawlers now so if you set them down for a second and look away, they’ll be gone.”

“Good to know. Enjoy your night, you two,” Derek winked as he shut the door.

“So where are we going?” you asked as you walked hand and hand to the car.

Spencer opened the passenger side door for you, “We are going to the restaurant where we had our first date, my dear,” he smiled.

-

Spencer had rented a private patio for the two of you with lit candles, fairy lights, and a bouquet of wildflowers similar to the one you carried down the aisle a year ago.

You gasped when you saw the set-up, “I love you so much, Spencer Reid.”

“I love you more, Mrs. Reid.”

You and Spencer ordered the exact same dishes that you got on your first date for maximum nostalgia.

“There is something I wanted to talk to you about,” Spencer spoke mid-meal.

You set your fork down to show him he had your full attention.

“So I was thinking about what I want to do this summer. You’re off of work for the summer so we’ll both be home with the kids. I figured I should take up some sort of project to keep my mind stimulated,” he explained.

“Go on...” you took a sip of your wine.

“I think I want to become an author,” he stated.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. Any idea what genre?” you smiled softly.

“At first, I was thinking about something related to my time at the BAU but then I realized I’ve had enough of that as is and I don’t feel like reliving it. Now, I’m thinking more along the lines of fiction because during all my years of schooling, I never really got to explore my creative side. I think a kid’s book could be fun for me to write. And I could work on it whenever the kids were napping or at school,” he explained to you.

“Whatever makes you happy, love. I can’t wait to read what that beautiful brain of yours comes up with,” you grinned, “This also makes my gift for you even better.”

“Y/N, we agreed no gifts,” he rolled his eyes playfully.

“It’s just something small that made me think of you,” you pouted, reaching into your purse.

You handed him something wrapped in a thin layer of pale purple tissue paper. Inside was a beautiful leather journal. It had a quote inscribed on it.

‘Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken away from us; it is a gift’ -Dante Alighieri

“You just saw this and happened to think of me?” he asked, amused, “How is it customized with our initials and wedding date then?”

“Fine,” you relented, “I ordered it off Etsy a while ago.”

“Good thing I also didn’t listen to our agreement,” he smirked, “But mine isn’t as sentimental and it’s really a gift for us both.”

“I’ll love it just the same,” you assured him.

“We are not going home tonight. The fairy godmother volunteered her and Derek’s services all night so I booked us a room at a bed and breakfast and I already packed you a bag in the backseat of the car.”

You started stuffing pasta into your mouth, “Eat faster. I want to go as soon as possible.”

Spencer chuckled at your eagerness.

-

Spencer felt you trying to sneak out of bed to get your phone.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled at the loss of your warmth.

“I just want to check on the kids. This is our first night away from the twins,” you grabbed your phone, putting on Spencer’s button up, and facetiming Penelope.

She picked up on the second ring, “Hello, my lovely.”

“Hey, Pen. Are the kids behaving for you guys?”

“Yes. They’re all sleeping soundly now. Me and Derek are just binging episodes of The Bachelorette now.”

“That’s great to hear. No spoilers though!”

“How is your night going?” she inquired.

“It’s good, it’s good. Dinner was nice. The hotel is nice,” you tried to avoid the obvious.

“Y/N, your makeup is completely smudged and I can see the collar of Spencer’s shirt around your neck,” she replied.

You heard Derek laughing in the background, “Proud of you, lover boy.”

“Okay, we’ll see you in the morning,” Spencer hung up the phone for you.

“What did you do that for?”

“Round 2,” he smirked.

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187 @doctorreiding @reidsfish

[katelyn--renee]

Out of the Fire (Part one)

Title: Out Of The Fire (Part one)

Fandom: Supernatural AU

Main Characters series: Reader, Lieutenant Firefighter!Dean Winchester, Lawyer!Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester (Moore), Nurse!Lisa Braeden (Formerly Winchester), Ben Braeden-Winchester, Harper Winchester (OFC), Charlie Bradbury, Firefighter!Benny Lafitte, Firefighter!Jo Harvelle, Firefighter!Castiel Novak, Claire Novak, Mechanic!John Winchester, Firefighter Captain!Ellen Harvelle, Mechanic!Bobby Singer, Doctor!Arthur Ketch, Nick Vaught and many more!

Pairings: Dean x Reader (eventual), Dean x Lisa (past), Reader x Nick (past), Lisa x Ketch (current), Sam x Jessica (current)

Word count: ±2500 words

Series summary: A slow burn romance. Reader is trying to get away from her troubled past and start fresh; a new name, new town, new friends, and a new job. A clean slate. After years of planning and saving, she is able to open her own business. With the help of her best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury, and her new flirty firefighter friend, she is hopeful, even when disaster strikes and her past threatens to catch up with her years later. 

Part one summary: Fire erupts and engulfs her beloved business, but something arises from the ashes and ignites a new desire.

Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fire or mentions of fire, fluff (so much fluff), angst, eventual smut, mutual pining, alcohol abuse, alcohol intoxication, mentions of domestic abuse (physical, verbal), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of adultery/cheating, mentions of death, dangerous or life threatening situations, stress, descriptions of injuries, blood, hospital scenes, character death. 

Author’s note: This is my first series and my first attempt at an Supernatural AU. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I will try to release new chapters at a timely fashion, but as we all know, life sometimes gets in the way. 

A special thank you to @that-one-gay-girl and @deanwanddamons for being the wonderful beta’s that you are! Your feedback is always appreciated! Check out their awesome work and spread some love!

All dividers and graphics done by me! 

If you like this story, please don’t hesitate to leave a like, comment and if you’re feeling extra generous, share! Your feedback gives me live and motivation! 

Thank you and let’s enjoy this ride together!!

Out of the Fire Masterlist!

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

It was so hot… Why was it so hot? And why was it so hard to breathe? 

You stirred from your position on the tile floor, the long lashes of your (Y/E/C) eyes fluttering lightly as you woke. The first thing you registered was the intensity of the heat that surrounded you, quickly followed by the tightness of your chest as you struggled to take a deep breath. A vicious cough ripped through you with the effort, your throat raw. 

You winced, your face scrunching with discomfort. You stirred again, needing to get up and move, to get away from the threatening heat, but your body protested with the effort. Your head was hammering, your brain  pounding against your skull with every forceful beat of your heart. 

What the hell happened? 

You groaned as you brought a hand to your head, feeling something damp and slick against your skin. Blood. You forced your eyes open despite their heaviness, a futile attempt to gather your bearings; you couldn't see much through the thick, black smoke that hung in the air around you. Another cough tore from your lungs and stung your throat.

Fuck. That hurt.

You sucked in a rigid breath, wheezing as the smoke filtered in through your lungs. Get up! Move! You needed to get moving and find a source of fresh air, find somewhere safe, and quickly, before the smoke suffocated you and the flames consumed your body. 

You scanned your surroundings swiftly, trying desperately to make every second count. Red hot flames licked the southwestern walls of the building on your right, engulfing everything that stood too close. That was where your office had been located, meaning the exit would be behind you, to the northeast. However, the counter separated you from your freedom, standing tall and stretching out and into the north wall, obstructing your path. The layout would force you to find another way around and take up so much of your precious time.

Rolling off your back and onto your belly, you supported your weight with your elbows and knees, making  a point to stay as low to the ground as possible. You forced yourself to move, driven onward by adrenaline and the sheer will to survive. You were not going to die like this.

You army crawled through the rubble and debris that was once your beloved café, ignoring the way it made your heart clench with sorrow. Now was not the time to grieve. You needed to stay focused. Your life, literally, depended on it.

There was a loud crash somewhere in the distance - perhaps it was the ceiling caving in from structural damage, you weren't entirely sure - but the sound of it was startling and shook the floor beneath you, causing you to instinctively freeze and cradle your head, bracing yourself for impact.

A small yelp of surprise escaped from your throat as your body trembled with fear. You couldn't move, your muscles refusing to cooperate even though your brain screamed at you to do so. 

There was another crash, much closer this time, as the flames ate away pieces of your heart and soul; all the years of hard work, burning to ash. You'd put everything into that little café, and now it was, quite literally, falling in around you. A ceiling beam landed  in front of you , engulfed by flames and blocking your path.

You jerked back and shielded your face from the inferno with your arms, the skin burning from the intense heat. "Oh god," You cried out without realizing it, any hope of escape beginning to slip away. Tears filled your eyes and spilled over your lashes, streaming down your soot-covered cheeks as dread began to creep its way in.

Just breath, stay calm, you're okay, you told yourself, trying to prevent the lingering panic attack. You exhaled slowly, struggling to remain calm,  willing the tears away. You banished them from your face with a swipe of your hand as you searched for another way out. With your back pressed against the counter to try and ground yourself, you pictured the floorplan around you in your head, trying to reassess where you were and which direction to go.

The kitchen. There was an employee exit through the kitchen. Changing direction and crawling back the way you came, you began your frantic crawl toward the swinging metal door. Your limbs felt like concrete as you forced yourself to move, and even though your vision started to get spotty and dark around the edges, making you feel nauseous, you kept on going, putting one arm in front of the other. 

Just a little further. Don’t give up! But it was so hot, and you were so, so tired... 

Just then, when you thought you weren't going to make it in time, you heard it… the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Anyone in here?!" He called out, his voice booming out over the roar of the flames. You could see the beam from his flashlight strapped to his shoulder, even through the thick wall of smoke. "Y/N?! Answer me, sweetheart!"

Your heart swelled with hope again as you recognized the man who was searching for you. Even though he sounded muffled through the oxygen mask covering his handsome face, you would recognize that voice anywhere. 

It was Dean.

Dean, the firefighter you've grown so fond of these past few weeks, was here to save you.

You shifted on the floor and craned your neck to try and see him. "D-Dean! I-" A harsh cough interrupted you, "I'm he-here!" You cried out, your voice hoarse from the smoke. You went into another coughing fit, this one much rougher and longer than the others. You gasped for air, your lungs tight and constricting in your chest.

"I hear you, (Y/N)!" You heard him quickly respond, his voice gaining in volume as he grew closer. "Guys, over here!" He called out to the rest of the crew before following your voice. "I'm coming, sweetheart! Just hang on for me!"

"De-" You tried again, but your voice gave out. Your eyes grew heavy from exhaustion, and your body began to shake with the exertion and lack of fresh oxygen. Your head spun and your vision blurred as Dean came into view, the counter dividing the two of you. 

In one effortless move, you watched through droopy lids as Dean vaulted over the counter and landed on the other side, his heavy boots thudding against the tile. He was now only an arm’s length away from you. You wanted to reach out for him, to touch him and make sure that he was actually there. But your limbs wouldn’t cooperate, feeling like stone at your sides.

He crouched down beside you and gripped your hand tightly as if reading your mind. His glove was thick and rough against your palm, but the material didn’t dampen the emotion or firmness that Dean put into the reassuring gesture. 

With apprehensive, yet determined emerald eyes, he quickly assessed your body for any obvious injuries that would raise concern, ones that could be worsened or become life-threatening if he were to move you. He must have been satisfied with his examination, the look in his eye becoming slightly more hopeful. 

His actions were rushed yet calculated as he removed his red lieutenant helmet, the mask quick to follow. His hair was tousled and sticking up in odd places. If this were any other, less dire situation and you were able to speak, you would have teased him about the messy heap on his head. 

You heard one of the other firemen protest his actions, warning Dean that it was against protocol to remove his mask and put himself, and in turn everyone else, in more danger. "Fuck the protocol." Dean shot back over his shoulder sternly as he slipped the mask over your head, his large hands surprisingly delicate and gentle, even through the rough material of his gloves. 

"There you go, sweetheart," He said a bit softer, turning his attention back to you. "That's it. Nice, deep breaths for me." He coaxed, nodding his head. "Good girl." He flashed you a brief, yet dazzling smile as you inhaled, following his instructions.

Your body rejoiced as the purest form of oxygen-filled your lungs, easing the tension inside of your chest, only momentarily. You struggled to keep your eyes open and focused on the beautiful man above you, his forest green eyes filled with so much concern. "Good girl," You heard him coo again, securing the helmet back onto his head.

The building creaked and groaned, threatening them with another collapse. Dean glanced up at the ceiling, his experience telling him that their time had been cut in half. You felt his large hands on your body as he scooped you into his strong arms, protectively holding you against his chest. 

"I've got you." He muttered assumingly, trying to keep you calm as he rose to his full height, lifting you with ease. He scanned the surroundings, and you saw a hint of a frown tug at his lips, noticing the scowl on his brow. The fire was closing in, limiting his options and growing hotter by the second. 

You made a motion toward the only exit available, lifting a shaky hand to point him in the right direction, and Dean seemed to have noticed your silent instruction. His eyes followed your finger, darting to the window on the metal door that framed the kitchen. He nodded before letting the others know, directing them to head back out through the front. They hesitated only briefly, knowing they’re not supposed to leave anyone alone, before following Dean's lead, trusting their lieutenant's judgment. 

The experienced firefighter moved with determined strides, having wasted enough time as more of the building began to collapse down around the pair of you. There was a crack, and a loud pop from the ceiling as the building shifted again. The fireman shielded you as a few clusters of hot debris and flames fell from above, protecting you from the fire. One of the balls landed and burst onto his shoulder, the flames licking at his face. He shrugged it off with a low grunt, gritting his teeth through the sting of his cheek. 

He refocused and took three large steps toward the kitchen, his heavy boots crunching the rubble beneath his feet as he closed the distance to freedom. Using his foot to force open the door, he let out a breath of relief, grateful to find that the exit was still a clear shot. 

Despite the combined weight of his bulky gear, the oxygen tank strapped to his back, and the extra body cradled in his arms, Dean made good time and jogged toward the sizable steel door, determined to get you to safety. 

Once again, he grunted through clenched teeth and lifted his powerful leg, the sole of his thick boot connecting with the push bar. The force of the impact caused it to swing swiftly on its hinges and crash against the brick wall. 

Smoke billowed out from the now open door as Dean rushed out into the alley behind the café, sucking down gulps of fresh air. He grunted and coughed, staggering briefly before correcting himself. You wanted to ask him if he was okay, wanted to comfort your rescuer, but couldn't seem to find your voice.

The nighttime air was cool against your overheated skin, despite being this close to the fire, and it made you shudder in Dean's arms, goosebumps rising over your sensitive flesh. The firefighter shifted you in his strong arms, getting a better, more comfortable hold. Your head was nuzzled in the crook of his arm, giving you a perfect view of his handsome face.

Flashing red and blue lights bounced off the brink surrounding you and lit up Dean’s face, highlighting his strongest features. You’d never seen anything quite like it, but then again, you’d never been this exhausted before. Surely your head was playing tricks? You gazed up at him in awe, studying the determination that hardened his usual gentle features. His face was dirty with soot and darkened by the smoke, covering the freckles that normally adorned the bridge of his nose. His jaw was lined with stubble, emphasizing just how strong it was. There was a noticeable red patch on his cheek, the skin irritated and angry from the burn. 

You were vaguely aware of the familiar, yet frantic, voice of your best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury. Her voice, regardless of its urgency, was drowned out by the sirens, fire hoses, and roaring flames behind you.

Sleep was beginning to linger at the forefront of your mind, tugging firmly and trying to force you into the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. You struggled to keep your eyes open, not wanting to give up the extraordinary view before you. But, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep them open any longer, and your (Y/E/C) eyes fluttered shut, despite your best efforts to keep them open and on the face of your rescuer. 

You could hear the muffled voices of your redheaded friend and the first responders that surrounded you, specifically Dean and Charlie, but you couldn't quite make out what was being said, the drowsiness making it hard to stay focused. You felt yourself being moved, and the noise died down drastically as you were lifted and strapped down to something solid yet oddly comfortable as you fought to stay awake. 

You peaked your eyes open, although they burned from all the smoke, you fought through the sting in search of your rescuer, but was met instead with the inside of an ambulance. It was bright, and the fluorescent light hurt your sensitive eyes. 

Something warm and made of thick wool was draped over your body, stealing your attention. You refocused and spotted the green eyes you had been desperate to find. You never broke his gaze as the fireman's mask was removed and replaced by a much smaller one. You grabbed at his hand desperately when he shifted to leave, desperate to have him near. 

His eyes dropped to where your hand touched his, and his expression softened almost instantly at your attempt to stop him, his large hand embracing yours. “They’re gonna take real good care of you, sweetheart.” He assured, his affectionate gaze turning back to you as he offered you a closed-lip smile. You could hear Charlie’s voice, sounding somewhere close by, but you couldn’t concentrate on anyone other than your hero. 

Your vision darkened around the edges, and your grip on consciousness was growing weak. Your hand loosened from Dean’s grasp and fell limp as your eyes fluttered shut. “I’m right behind ya.” He promised as the paramedics ushered him out so they could get moving. His voice was the last thing you heard before the ambulance doors slammed shut, and the darkness of unconsciousness took over.

Thank you for reading I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week for part two!

Read part two, here! -->>

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​

Out of the Fire (series)

@vicmc624 // @anotherspnfanfic // @krazykelly // @compresshischest09 // @thefamilybusiness

[fcb-mv33]

I saw that a lot of people are always claiming that red bull is a racist team. Only marko is a peace of shit, Christian or Max have done nothing wrong. Show me the racism. Like are people stupit? (rhetorical question i know people are stupid). Red bull showed all the support and fired one of their best junior drivers because of racist remarks. It takes time to end a contract it can't be done by the snap of the fingers. They are not trying to distract people away from piquet.

Also the whole Jos is an abusive monster thing. Don't think it's fair because that man was cleared of all charges in court of law. Jet people still belive news papers. You really think that Sophie (Maxes mom if people don't know) would be fine taking pictures with the man who abused her (there are pictures of the whole family together at one of Maxes races at torro rosso and red bull), and jos has a great relationship (as fare as I know, have you seen his insta like it's all looka at my pride and joy, my beautiful kids and my race cars) all his kids, I don't think their mothers would let their kids be around a abusive man. Also people calme that Jos abused Max. And Max is like "my dad, my biggest supporters the man who built me karts and engines and drove me all around Europe so I can compete. He thought me so much about driving and racing and spent all his time and money on my racingcareer". He was harsh on Max yes I'm not going to denie that but abusive don't think so. Max has a brain and is one of the most mentally strong drivers on the grid. I don't belive he would let his father near if he was really an abusive asshole that people clame Jos is/was. My parent were abusive what we know about their relationship doesn't sound abusive.

The fact that people say Max won the championship in spite of Jos is just disrespectful. That man did a lot for his son. Jos is no angel but man come on.

If Max was to come out tomorrow and say my dad was/is an abusive monster I woud suport Max as much as I can and woud condemn Jos. But who are we to claim abuse and say things that are being said about Jos. None of us really know. What I'm trying to get at saying in the comments that Jos tried to kill his wife or that he abused Max without real evidence and without the Max claiming abuse is wrong.

I don't know where this rant came from. I'm sorry I know am rambling. I'm kinda tired of seeing hate being thrown on red bull and seeing people call Jos abusive and then talking like they were there and like they know and also acting like Max is this weak little abused child that is delusioned by what his dad did for him and that is the reason why he doesn't know he was abused. Maybe he was not abused. Like he is a grown ass man he would have done something about his dad if he wanted to.

I apologise again for this ask it's a bit much. But everything that I went trough in my childhood I wish someone did for me what Jos did for Max. People who were abused don't become strong from abuse they become strong while healing from abuse and you can't heal while still being around your abusers.

You can't become a champion from abuse. A child would have crumbled under abuse and would not have the confidence in their ability. Max is the most confident driver on the grid that man knows what he is capable of.

Nah bestie don’t apologize for sending asks honestly!!

But I will say I don’t like J*s. Hearing some of the things Max has said about his childhood with so much ease I do think is sad. It’s not my place to say if he was abusive but some of the things that has been said is borderline abuse.

The hate to Red Bull I despise because they truly love Max. Christian you can just tell really loves Max and you could see that in Abu Dhabi and in all the races with either a loss or a win he’s always there to pick up Max. And the team as a whole love Max…like the Abu Dhabi celebrations always kills me because you can SEE how much this meant to them, Max winning his first championship and they supported and defended him so much.

The hate Red Bull gets us ridiculous and unnecessary when it comes to their love for Max.

[shining-red-diamond]

My World

Words: 904

Pairing: Artist!Ten x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

A/N: For the NCT Writers CORPORATE event.

Summary: Ten has a deadline to meet in order to put on his art show, but he’s having artist’s block. That is until he finds inspiration in his wife and newborn son.

Another dunk in the piled high trash bin and Ten exhaled in defeat. Hours of drawing and failed ideas slipped by, and the artist was not satisfied with any of his ideas. They were among the categories of “been done,” “this is a repeat,” “this one was stolen,” and even “mud looks better than this.” His next art show was in four days, but he needed a new conversation piece; and it was the one he wouldn’t sell but just show off his talent. However, his brain couldn’t come up with anything new.

Ten, as he preferred to go by, had been painting since he was a child. It started out in just drawing and doodling on school notebook paper before he started to take art classes to improve and grow in his skills. Over the years, he won many awards for his creations through school events and now, in his adult life, big showcases. Ten even was asked to illustrate a children’s book, in which he also received much praise due to his attention to detail through the use of a brush.

Tossing his now nub of a pencil on his desk, he decided to go eat something for dinner. He figured some food in his stomach would help push his creative juices to flow. Once he stood from his seat and stretched his stiff muscles, Ten exited his studio and made his way to his kitchen.

He had just barely opened his refrigerator when a voice asked him, “Finished already, babe?”

Somehow, he hadn’t noticed his wife Y/N sitting at the table breastfeeding their newborn son. A tired smile broke out on his face as he saw the touching moment.

“I can’t even get an idea off the ground,” he sighed as he grabbed some leftovers. “I feel that I’ve painted everything, but at the same time, I haven’t.”

“It’ll come to you,” Y/N encouraged as she switched the baby to her other breast. “Every artist in each field goes through some sort of block.”

Ten placed his food into the microwave. “I guess you’re right.”

Leon, their cat, then rubbed up against his legs, giving him a sort of comfort. Ten leaned down and pet his head.

“Nice kitty,” he cooed.

“I don’t know if it’ll help,” Y/N spoke up again, “but if you want to look at some recent or old photos we have for inspiration they’re in my closet in a yellow shoe box.”

Giving it a thought, he nodded and headed towards his and his wife’s bedroom. The first thing he noticed when he saw the closet door was the box in question. Once he turned on the light he sat down on the floor and opened the box in his lap. Dozens of pictures stared back at him: some from his childhood, some from Y/N’s, a few of their wedding pictures and even when they dated. One picture in particular caught his eye, however, and when he gazed upon it a light bulb went off in his head.

-

“Tell me about this one,” Mr. Jo, the director of the art museum, requested. “I’ve been intrigued by it since I got here.”

The painting displayed in front of him displayed a beautiful woman wearing a flowing purple shawl and small blossoms in her hair, and cradled in her arms was a newborn baby swaddled in a golden blanket. His eyes were slightly open and gazing up at his mother.

With a proud smile on his face, Ten replied, “I call it ‘My World.’ It’s my wife and our newborn son, Y/S/N. I was inspired by a photo taken the day he was born, and I added my own twist on it. It was the happiest day of our lives.”

“It’s beautiful. The colors, the attention to detail, even the story. Just looking at it reminds me of the day my daughter was born.”

Ten’s eyes lit up. “You like it?”

“Of course! We’ve been needing a piece that reflects on the happiest moments of our lives.” He then leaned in close to him, “Between you and I, I’ve been sick of all the more depressing paintings here, as lovely as they are. Cassandra Lee won’t shut up about how hers expresses the loss of her boyfriend from high school. It’s tragic, but Ms. Lee hasn’t been in high school in thirty years.”

Ten chuckled as he sipped on his champagne.

“Anyways,” Mr. Jo stood up straighter, “what’ll it be?”

“Price?” Ten shrugged. “Gosh, Mr. Jo, I don’t know if I can put a price tag on it and just sell it. I mean it’s here for my showcase as a new piece, but I don’t know if I can give it up just like that.”

The young artist had intended on getting his painting on display and selling a few others, but as he had penciled in outlined and painted every detail he wasn’t sure if he could just give up something he treasured.

“How about this,” Mr. Jo offered, “The painting stays up here for the next in the local art section, and we’ll pay you $2,000 before it’s yours?”

“$5,000,” Ten replied.

“$3,000, and that’s my final offer.”

“Deal.”

[littlejeanniebean]

Since I loved the last one so much here’s another if you’re up for it :)

For Amy x Laurie

“you’re mine, and i don’t share”

Laurie stood in front of his full-length mirror, adjusting his stance to the weight of the small, palm-sized box in his pocket. It wasn’t that heavy, but it might as well have been for how aware he was of its presence. 

“Amy…” said Laurie, putting on his most serious face for the mirror. Immediately, he turned away. “No, no, it sounds like you’ve done something wrong…” He turned back to the mirror, a debonair grin stretching across his cheeks. “Hey there, little lady — No, that’s worse, that is so much worse!”

He paced the length of his bedroom before diving for his phone on his bed, suddenly struck with a brilliant idea: call Jo.

“Hey, Teddy.” The brunette appeared on his screen.

“Hey, I have your permission to ask for Amy’s hand in marriage, right?”

“Hold on.” Jo turned around in her leather armchair and yelled with her full chest, “Mama, does Laurie have our permission to ask Amy’s hand in marriage?”

“Yes!” the girls’ mother yelled back.

“Jesus! Don’t tip her off!” Laurie’s eyes were nearly bugging out of his head.

But Jo just waved him off, her long nose scrunching as though he was something that mildly annoyed her, like a pebble in her boot or a pen out of ink. “Amy’s gone out. Christmas shopping.” 

Laurie exhaled heavily. “I swear, you’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“Not if you give me an aneurysm first,” Jo quipped. 

Laurie laughed. “Right, so now that we’ve worked that out: How should I ask her?”

“That’s your job to figure out. I’m not going to help you be lazy —”

“I am not being lazy!” He sat up indignantly, taking his phone with him in such a haphazard way that only half his face was in the frame only half the time. “I’ve tried —”

“How many times?”

“What?” 

“How many times did you get up in front of your mirror and say something you thought was stupid?”

“Like… two,” he mumbled. 

“Call me when you get to a hundred.” 

“No, no, no, Jo! Don’t leave m—”

Beep. The call disconnected.

“Ugh…” Laurie flopped down onto the floor. “Amy, you’re mine and I don’t share, will you marry me?” He flipped over so he was lying on his stomach, his hands lightly clasped under his chin. “Amy, love of my life — no, she is literally going to tell you you’re full of it and laugh in your face while putting the ring on her own finger, goddammit.” 

Quite literally, Laurie wracked his brain for the right words. His hair was in such disarray by the time he stilled. He knew Amy would most likely say yes. They’ve talked about marriage before. They’ve talked about building a life together, even having kids (they both wanted exactly one), and he knew this should have set him at ease, made the proposal flow naturally, but he was still nervous, more nervous than he’d ever been in his life (and he’d asked Jo out and she was a regular bulldog). 

Laurie got up, only to get down on his knees and take the small box out of his pocket. He looked up at where he imagined his girlfriend’s beautiful face would be and popped the box open. “Amy… I love you… the kind of love that felled empires and broke hearts and started scandals... but also... the kind of love that built homes in hostile lands and made hearts whole again and didn’t care what anyone else thought… I love you… and I will love you for the rest of my life, the only question is… will you take it?”

“Yes,” she whispered behind him. 

He spun around quickly, still down on one knee, and promptly fell sideways to the floor. And that was Amy’s favorite part of the story to tell at Christmas, Thanksgiving, every. Single. Occasion. Over. And over. Again. For the rest of their lives.

thank you for this ask, @thatmartinskishit! i had so much fun with it! hope you liked it and happy holidays! xx

[qiankunfics]

JohnKun Masterlist - Part 1

AO3

1. rearranged by renjaune - 

Summary: johnny has to share a room with his long-time crush thanks to haechan Rating: Explicit  Status: One-shot

2.  Wow, Bulge by lunalius J

Summary: Johnny's always dreamed of getting a soulmate tattoo and meeting his other half. The hand the Fates end up dealing him is not so dreamy. Rating: Teen  Status: One-shot

3. The Blue Antonov by tentography 

Summary: Kun runs a small bookstore and Johnny, a famous actor, stumbles into his life. Yes, this is absolutely a Notting Hill AU. Rating: Teen Status: On-going 

4. don't take my breath away too soon by sofarsoperfect 

Summary:  Like if he falls asleep he really has to start saying goodbye to the NCT 2020 era and he’s not sure he’s ready to do that yet. Rating: Teen Status: One-shot

5. put me right in my place by sofarsoperfect

Summary: “I am,” he replies. His voice is soft and velvety, warm and syrupy. Johnny leans down to nudge their noses together, Kun smiling softly as he does so. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-shot Trigger: Kinks

6. An Open Wound by lunalius 

Summary: Kun's life is thrown off balance when he stumbles upon a dying Youngho. Rating: Mature Status: One-shot Trigger: Blood & Injury

7. You're an Idiot (but you're My Idiot) by samuraiseonghwa

Summary: Sometimes disasters make the best dates. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

8. from one shadow to another by rowenabane

Summary: Kun has the audacity to smile. “Oh, Johnny,” he says. “You really are a man after my own heart.” Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot Trigger: Blood & Injury 

9. Indebted by lunalius

Summary: Johnny has three credit cards, of which one is frozen into an ice block for his own good.  Rating: Teen  Status: One-Shot  Trigger: Possible irresponsible spending 

10. you warmly melted me by blazingsirius

Summary: For a while, Qian Kun’s life is a bumbling mess between juggling his Master’s study, working as a budding producer, and being a single father. Johnny Suh came somewhere in between and suddenly everything felt okay. Rating: General  Status: One-Shot 

11. Here Comes The Prince, The Royal Frogness by blazingsirius

Summary: Prince Johnny was forced to attend a ball his parents held to find him a partner, but he found a way to escape the ball, which ended with a wrongful meeting with a magical being that put him in a curse. Somehow, a (literally) poor guy, Kun, got dragged into the mess. And oh, they’re both frogs now.  Rating: General Status: One-shot

12. Addictive Frequency by Sakunade

Summary: Johnny misses Kun, misses spending time together and having the younger in his bed. Kun is beautiful, perfect, and has the most delicious ass Johnny's ever seen. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

13. brightest light by tentography

Summary: Their summer had only just begun when Kun asks him to stay beneath the neon lights of the 7-eleven, bathing them in an electric mix of fluorescent white and bright orange-green-red. Rating: Teen Status: On-going 

14. johrny (horny 4 johnny) by borntovixx 

Summary: Johnny lifts weights without wearing a shirt and Kun can't stop staring at his muscles flexing – is it advisable to ask your crush if you could to lick his abs pretty please? It definitely isn't, but Kun's brain short-circuits and gives in to the cacoethes. Rating: Teen  Status: One-Shot

15. cream stuffed buns by farthendur

Summary: straight frat bros johnjae discover they feel real weird around neighborhood baker and DILF kun. Rating: Explicit  Status: On-going

16. in all glory by farthendur

Summary: Captain Qian Kun and First Officer Johnny Suh spend an intimate and spicy night in their quarters. What could possibly ruin it? Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

17. We Got Married International - Johnny and Kun by jhengchie

Summary:  We got married International edition with Johnny as the member of the popular KPOP idol group Limitless and Kun is the beloved Chinese soloist Rating: General  Status: One-Shot

18. dubrovnik by lowkeyamen

Summary: Johnny takes off to Croatia, and meets someone from his past he didn't even recognise. Rating: Explicit  Status: Completed  *trans!Kun

19. this will be by sofarsoperfect

Summary: “When we do trade them back,” Johnny says and the inevitably of it makes Kun’s stomach twist in knots, “we really have to find something better.” (Parent Trap AU)  Rating: Teen  Status: One-Shot

20. The Moonlight after Midnight by writesinfontuwu

Summary: They shared a memorable night in Osaka two years ago. Now they are reunited for NCT2020, Johnny feels his heart thumping in his chest again. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

21. Up or Down by lamarina

Summary: Caught between a cute TA and a foreign language credit, what's a guy to do? Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

22. Is this a scoop? - in the eyes of Mark Lee by cherrycitrus_blossom

Summary:  Who is that customer and what relationship does he have with Johnny to make his eyes light up in delight when he walks through the door? Rating: General Status: One-Shot

23. I Love You Still by nu-exo (Nekohime)

Summary: JohnKun Agent AU  Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

24. turn the lights on by jeanheir

Summary: Kun’s soft snores fill the room, the other man sleeping peacefully without a care in the world. It’s almost cruel, how unbothered he seems. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

25. Bad Kind of Player by Sakunade

Summary: The plan was supposed to be easy - count cards, win money, and be done with it. Except Kun chose the wrong casino, one under the control of Seo Youngho, known as Johnny, the rising head of the Gyeonghui jo-pok.  Rating: Explicit  Status: Completed Trigger: Kinks

26. red, gold (burning) by tentography

Summary: Kun Qian and the Audacity Of This Bitch (HP AU!)  Rating: Teen Status: Completed 

27. In-Sync Heartbeats by mezzaluna_ch

Summary: This is the piece he plays every time he wants to escape reality in haste. This is the piece he plays every time he thinks of Johnny. Now, Johnny is the one playing it. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

28. I Owe You by seungwanxndxnly

Summary:  Only Johnny's big crush on Kun can hold him back. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

29. superluminal by wentz

Summary: A man who can only be the captain of the smuggling vessel stands at the top of the ship's ramp, cutting a roguish picture as he leans with one arm against one of the hydraulic pillars. He looks supremely dashing. Kun dislikes him on sight. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

30. Shoot For the Moon by lunalius

Summary: Kun wants to go to space. He's got a plan to get there, and he's following it to a tee.  Rating: Explicit  Status: Completed

31. he was a superhero, he was a seamstress, can i make it any more obvious by fvckradio

Summary: Superhero Kun with Seamstress Johnny  Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot Trigger: Mentions of blood and injury 

32. just a touch of your love by seonho

Summary: Kun is rather mild in his kinks — not entirely vanilla, but then again, certainly nothing as scandalous as having his blood sucked out of him. (Vampire) Johnny Suh, however, poses a very tempting threat to those convictions. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot Trigger: Blood 

33. So I Can Fix Your Hand, I'll Be Your Handyman by IsabelArmuelles

Summary:  Johnny dislikes his landlady but is very much crushing on her step-son, the handyman.  Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

34. connect the dots, baby! by rowenabane

Summary: Johnny suspects Kun of being a serial killer.  Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

35. Countercurrent Exchange by indiecheetah

Summary:  Johnny wasn’t exactly a believer. He never thought monsters or cryptids were real, always finding those stories amusing at best. But even all of his years of knowledge of marine life could not explain this creature. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

36. Inevitably Loving You by occultclysms

Summary: Prince Kun and Celebrity Johnny fake date.  Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

 37. i'm stepping on the cracks (i feel fine) by sofarsoperfect

Summary: Sprite Kun and Human Johnny - Kun seeks refuge with Johnny ;)  Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

38. Domestic Bliss by cobalamincosel

Summary: Johnny and Kun work through a divorce.  Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

39. you say my name like i have never heard before by sofarsoperfect

Summary: Mafia Johnny with Kun  Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot Trigger: Mafia-related triggers and homophobia 

40. love me harder by sofarsoperfect

Summary: kun is fine, he's not even that resentful of his past or of johnny and he's doing really well and it's fine. except that one thing leads to another and it's totally, absolutely not fine at all. Rating: Explicit Status: Completed 

41. Emotional Distancing by lunalius

Summary: A global pandemic puts a dent in Kun's Green Card plans, but not in the way he expected. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

42. Domino by cobalamincosel

Summary: Kun and Johnny get back together after a break up.  Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

43. and the next, and the next by jenhyung

Summary: Childhood friends Kun and Johnny meet again.  Rating: General Status: Completed 

44. would you mind by jokheiz

Summary: Single dad Kun crushing on his co-worker Johnny.  Rating: General Status: One-Shot

45. Charmed by lunalius

Summary: So no, he wasn’t blind. He was well aware that Johnny Suh had a crush on him. (HP AU) Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

46. you got what i want, boy (and i want it) by sofarsoperfect

Summary: JohnKun PWP  Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot 

47. Flower Boy by bananaboatt

Summary: Kun wants a really cute flower crown for his coronation, Johnny is a real big sucker for his boyfriend. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

48. head first by jenhyung

Summary: Youngho crushes hard. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

49. In the Middle of the Night by kittensuh

Summary: Kun knows him, reads him like he’s an open book conveniently placed on Professor Qian’s podium for him to consume in all of his glory. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

50. Altered States by unnameable

Summary: When Johnny’s sexual dry spell has lasted for longer than he can recall, Ten suggests Kun, a erotic hypnotist, instead of helping him get laid. Johnny forgets about the ridiculous suggestion until he meets Kun at one of Ten’s parties a few months later. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

[hashtagdex]

aaaaa you reblogged the thing!!! could you write misc 7. “If I die, I’m haunting you first.” 💕

thank you so much for sending me one, jo!! i hope you like this <3

There is a reason Dex gets his hair cut once a month.

if it gets too long, it brushes his ears in a way he’s always painfully aware of and he can’t help but fidget with it if his hands aren’t busy. It’s a terrible distraction that he really can’t afford this close to finals. And yet, here he fucking is.

He’s tugging at it again, at the back of his head this time, when Nursey speaks up. “Dude, are you okay?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

Dex drops his hand onto his class notes and looks up at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just so busy studying that I don’t have time to get my haircut while the shop is open, but it’s growing out and getting so fucking annoying.” He tugs at his hair again once, like that will prove his point to Nursey.

Nursey looks at him for a moment, hand still curled around his pen as he scans Dex’s head, then shrugs. “I can cut your hair for you if you want,” he offers simply, “I saw clippers in the upstairs bathroom. How hard can it be?”

Dex hesitates. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Nursey, but Nursey is no professional, obviously, and he’s clumsy on a good day. His hair is important to him, Dex can admit that to himself, and the last thing he needs is to look like an absolute clown when he has places to be. And especially around Nursey.

But the hair is tickling his ears and it’s driving him insane, so he sighs and nods. “That would be great actually.”

_/ \_

Dex feels oddly exposed, sitting shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror on the stool they dragged upstairs from the kitchen, as Nursey clicks on the clipper’s guard. He knows he doesn’t need to. Nursey sees this—and more—almost every day in the dressing room, but this is more… intimate. There is no boisterous team around, no bro code to adhere to. It’s just them and whatever has been blooming between them for the past few months. 

“Ready?” Nursey asks and holds up the clippers in a much more menacing way than Dex thinks he really needs to. At least Nursey put on his glasses for this. As much as it makes Dex’s heart flutter to see him in them, it also calms his nerves to know he’s taking this seriously.

“If I die, I’m haunting you first,” Dex warns half-heartedly. He sees Nursey’s little eye roll in the mirror.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Nursey replies as turns the clippers on and gets started.

Dex finds it easy to get lost in the low buzz. Nursey’s free hand comes up to tilt his head where he needs it every now and then, and Dex lets his eyes fall shut. He hasn’t been this relaxed since before he started studying for finals two weeks ago and he’s going to soak up every second of this.

He only manages to drag his eyes back open once Nursey declares he’s done and turns the clippers off. It does look pretty good. Almost as if he’d actually managed to make it to the barber shop during opening hours instead of getting an impromptu haircut at home from Nursey at nine p.m. in their bathroom.

“Nice,” Dex tells him. He catches Nursey’s soft smile in the mirror and it goes straight to his heart.

Without warning, Nursey starts to dust stray little hairs off Dex’s neck and naked shoulders. His hands are warm and his touch is so light Dex can’t fight the goosebumps. Not that he really wants to. Nursey’s hands on skin feel good. Really good. Great, even.

Nursey doesn’t stop there, though. He pushes his hands up into Dex’s freshly buzzed hair, tracing along his sides and the back of his head. Dex can’t help but grin, probably embarrassingly lovestruck, when Nursey just keeps at it, going back and forth gently. The goosebumps make their way up Dex’s neck and, after noticing Nursey’s soft expression in the mirror, Dex allows himself to close his eyes again.

God knows when he gets to have this again, if ever, so he’s going to enjoy whatever Nursey’s willing to give him tonight.

Dex is sinking back into that relaxed state from earlier as Nursey leaves the shaved parts he worked on behind and threads his fingers through the longer parts on top of Dex’s head. His brain turns off for the moment and Dex is blissful and calm, finals and hockey and life outside this bathroom all but forgotten.

“You like that?” Nursey whispers eventually, voice quiet and soft with an audible smile.

Dex hums, low and deep, and doesn’t turn his brain back on. “Like you.”

Nursey’s hand stills right where it is at the crown of his head as Dex’s brain catches up with his mouth. Before he can start to panic and try to backpedal, though, Nursey asks, just as quiet as before but a lot more hopeful, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dex confirms, breathing a sigh of relief.

Then Nursey is pressing an unbearably soft kiss into the side of Dex’s neck and his heart lurches into his throat. “Me too,” Nursey says against his skin before he leaves another kiss on top of Dex’s shoulder, the smile clear as day.

Nursey’s hand falls from his head as Dex turns around on his stool and finally opens his eyes. The sight of Nursey there, with his soft smile and softer eyes behind smudgy glasses, is almost too much. He’s so beautiful Dex can hardly breathe.

“Thank you,” Dex says into the space between them as he reaches up to cup Nursey’s cheek. He strokes it once, a simple back and forth of his thumb, and then pulls Nursey down into a kiss that’s long overdue.

[rubix-writings]

Punisher Pt. 3

Third part of Punisher. I apologize it’s taking me so long to post these, but want to make sure they’re good for you all. Thank you for the support so far!! This is a Chicago PD/Fire imagine with an original character. I don’t own any of the plot points or characters from the show. Also, it doesn’t follow any particular season or sequence in the shows.

Series Summary: Josephine (Jo) never expected to find support and pure love when she left Los Angeles. She ran away to Chicago and was content with living an insignificant, hidden life. But everything changes when she walks into Molly’s to get a job.

Josephine (OC) x Jay Halstead

The italicized lines are internal thoughts of the character.

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, long (!)

Things are going really well at Molly’s. It’s like falling into step during a choreographed dance. It feels odd to say that I’m comfortable and confident when it’s only my second shift. I’m working with Stella tonight, who to say the least had a lot of fun the night before. When she first walked into the bar she looked as if Casper made a stop in Chicago. At the start of opening she kept her jacket on and slammed down cups of black coffee. Her body seemed to stay in a permanent state hunched over the bar top while she only communicated through slow movements with her fingers. I couldn’t watch her pain any longer, so I used my break to grab a cheeseburger and fries so greasy the oil soaked the paper bag. 

“You need to put something solid into your body,” I announce as I plop the white, greased bag on the bar top in front of Stella’s practically limp body. She slowly lifts her head with a deep groan and analyzes the bag.

“I’m a firefighter Jo, my body is a temple. I can’t eat this,” I can’t stop the laugh that escapes my lips.

“Are tequila shots a part of your ‘temple’s’ regimen?” she sniffs the bag and sighs.

“You see, the tequila actually kills all the bacteria in the stomach,” Stella examines the golden fry before taking a bite. 

“Be sure to tell your theory to the doctors that come in later, I’m sure they’d love to hear that.”

“I will,” she says with a mouthful of cheeseburger. 

Just like magic, Stella is back to her bouncy self. It amazes me how much like Hermann she is, she practically floats around Molly’s. She talks to everyone and makes sure they’re having a good time. Stella sets the tone of the entire bar, bringing life to every inch of the place. It’s nice to watch her interact with others, a part of me is envious of how natural it comes to her. A part of me is, also, envious of her relationship with Kelly. His eyes when he looks at her are filled with unconditional love and the way Stella looks at him when he’s not looking confirms that she feels the same. I’ve never had that… or will have it. The bar top serves its purpose as a closed door to the patrons on the other side, I open it as much as I want and they see what I want them to see. I’m in control.

It’s a busy Friday night, the bar filled quickly. The firemen I met last night stroll in with the same vigor as the night before, obviously hurting a lot less than Stella was a few hours ago. Stella plays it off as if she didn’t have a raging hangover, but Kelly quickly throws her under the bus. Cruz yells as he claims he’s known the truth all along, but Mouch steps in to deny it, leading to Cruz listing out facts about how he knew. I place a few beer bottles in front of the guys, trying not to get involved.

“I’m sorry about them,” Matt says.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. They’re funny,” I smile.

“You don’t have to hear it all day long,” Matt grumbles as he takes a long sip from his beer.

“This is true. I get them in concentrated doses,” I excuse myself to collect empties at the tables scattered around the room. With my hands full I turn to head back to the bar top, but crash into a hard body. I stumble back from the blow and the mystery man swiftly grabs my arms to keep me from falling. Once I get my footing back, he releases my arms.

“Sorry about that. Are you okay?” His voice is like velvet that draws my eyes up to look at his face. Wow. My mind fell into a haze barely registering his question. 

“Um, yeah. Thanks,” he smirks at how long it took me to answer his question. Really smooth Jo. “I should get back to work, sorry about running into you,” I walk backwards a few steps, he immediately steps forward keeping the same amount of space between us as before.

“Let me at least help you with those, I’m heading to the bar anyway,” before I could object, his large hand cradles the numerous beer bottles that were once in my hand. Before my brain can spiral about his large hands, I spin and head back to the bar. I silently weave through the customer’s of Molly’s, I needed to get back to my safe zone to hopefully make his charm less effective. He gently places the bottles on the bar top for me to discard, I smile and thank him. Before I can ask for his order, the firemen and Stella welcome him to the bar.

“Hey Jay, haven’t seen you around here in awhile,” Stella mentions. 

“Yeah I know. Um have you seen my brother anywhere?” Stella shakes her head no. Brother? I try to seem like I’m not listening while cleaning up behind the bar and get any excuse not to look at him again. One embarrassing moment for tonight is enough. Out of nowhere, Will pops up and slaps Jay on the back. They go in for a quick hug before Will says hi to everyone. 

“Hey don’t kill me, but I invited Nat. I know it’s supposed to just be us, but she had a really rough day,” Will whispers, Jay shakes his head to let him know he’s totally fine with it. “Great, thanks man.”

I put two glasses of red wine on the bar top for two women that definitely want to take a firefighter home tonight. After how many women these men turned down the night before I highly doubt they’ll have any luck, but I’m kinda rooting for them.

“Hey Jo,” Will smiles.

“Hi Will,” I say in monotone to mess with him.

“Have you met my brother Jay?” Will slaps Jay’s chest which startles Jay a little, making me smile. Geez, these guys must have gorgeous parents. Will is handsome of course, but Jay... 

“We kinda ran into each other actually.” I smirk.

“Oh that’s great, he’s a really good guy. He’s a cop, detective, sorry,” Will corrects himself, Jay is glaring at him.

“I’m not making you a manhattan,” he slaps his hand against the bar top.

“Worth a shot. Can I get a glass of chardonnay and a beer, oh and whatever Jay’s having,” I nod and grab Will his drinks. He slides me his credit card to open a tab then walks off to see Natalie at the table.

“I’m definitely missing something, why does my brother want a manhattan?” Jay finally asks. 

“Oh Jay it was great!” Stella jumps in to tell a very colorful version of the events that happened between Will and I. As she finishes up she is swept to the end of the bar to take an order. 

“She was drunk last night” I mumble under my breath. Jay smirks, knowing Stella’s retelling was probably fabricated. “What can I get you?” I try to change the subject.

“A beer please,” I nod. “You’re new here Jo?” He phrases it as a question, but it's definitely more of a statement. 

“Yeah, started yesterday,” I hand him his beer. 

“Thanks. Are you from Chicago?”

“No, LA actually, lived there my whole life,” I lean my forearms on the bar top in front of him.

“Wow, big change.” “Yeah, I don’t know if I thought it all the way through to be honest,” he smiles.

“Well let me tell you if you haven’t figured it out already, snow and winter are incredibly overrated.” “Ah yes, that’s exactly what I needed to hear. I can go back to LA now.” “Glad to be of service,” he shrugs. Jay stayed on the same stoll at the bar for the rest of the night. It was strange how easy it was to talk with him, he offered stories about his job and funny stories about him and Will growing up. It’s so beautiful to have those stories, that he’s gone through life with someone that deeply and come out the other side. I tell him that I don’t have siblings and mostly spent time with my mom when I was young. Jay was quick to offer up Will to fill the void.

“I’ll keep you updated on that,” I laugh.

“Are you and your mom still close?”

“Um no, she… she died about ten years ago,” even though her death happened so long ago it still felt so weird saying it out loud. 

“I’m sorry Jo. I lost my mom to cancer a few years back.”

“So you get it,” he nods and offers a somber smile. 

It wasn’t till Will and Natalie announced their departure, that Jay made any moves to leave Molly’s. The bar was slowly emptying out as last call was already declared. 

“I should head out, it was really nice talking with you Jo,” Jay stands.

“It was really nice talking with you too Jay,” I say sincerely. He smiles wide before making a beeline for the front door. I can’t help but stare until he’s fully out of sight, my cheeks start to hurt from fighting the smile on my face. I tuck my loose hair behind my ear and start grabbing the empty glasses from the bar top. 

“Have fun?” Stella questions, I jump slightly not realizing she was standing there.

“Another good night for tips, yeah,” she looks at Kelly who’s the last of the firefighters at the bar. 

“Sure, doesn’t hurt that Officer Handsome was here all night either.” “I… I’m going to wash the glasses,” I pick up the large plastic crate with dirty drinking glasses and head to the back where Hermann showed me where the sink was. Stella didn’t mention Jay again, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done, Jay’s blue eyes and the way he got so passionate during a story were ingrained in my mind for the rest of the night. 

***

Hermann asked if I could open Molly’s for him the next day as he was running late with paperwork at the firehouse. I had a short shift that night anyway and could use the extra money no matter how little. Hermann told me to meet him at the firehouse to give me the keys since they haven’t been able to cut me my own yet. The firehouse isn’t far from Molly’s, a couple blocks on foot. I prepared myself with my warmest coat for the trek since the wind chill makes Chicago brutally cold. I focus on the sound of my shoes against the wet pavement to take my mind off of how cold I really am. 

The firehouse is a ball of color on this cold, dark Chicago day. The plain brick buildings surrounding it emphasize the reds and yellows. It somehow feels untouched by the rest of the city, a true sign of purity. As soon as I walk through the doors of the firehouse I’m met with the sweet smell of food cooking. It’s as if my feet have a mind of their own and take my body towards the magnificent smell’s source. The kitchen was buzzing with people cooking, talking, and playing card games. 

“Jo!” Stella yells, “what are you doing here?” she walks over to me, leaving her conversation with Matt and Kelly, who both wave at me.

“I’m here to get the keys from Hermann, do you know where he is?” 

“Yeah, he’s in the garage let me take you to him,” I try to argue that it could wait, but Stella insists. “Hermman!” she yells once we get into the garage. 

“What?!” he snaps back. She giggles as we both walk towards the outburst. As we turn around the big fire engine, I see why Stella was so insistent about not waiting. “Oh hey, Jo,” he says calmer.

Jay is standing tall with a notepad in front of Hermann. Stella silently excuses herself from the conversation and makes her way back inside. Hermann pays no attention to his surroundings as he’s searching for the three keys I need to open Molly’s. 

“Hey,” Jay smiles.

“Hi.”

“Here you go, I labeled them for you so you know what lock they go into. Once you get inside, lock the front door, just in case,” I nod and take the keys from him. The silver keys have thin pieces of masking tape on them with dark blue sharpie stating what they open. 

“Thanks, I’ll see you there,” I back away from the men to head back to the bar. Hermann nods and waves.

“Hermann we’re done here right?” Jay asks.

“Yeah, let me know if you find anything,” Hermann states somewhat hopeless. Jay puts away the notepad in his back pocket of his jeans and jogs to catch up to me. The sound of Jay’s thick boots hitting the cement fills the sound of the garage. When he finally catches up to me, he moves ahead to open the door to outside for me. 

“So you’re stalking me now?” He jokes.

“Um how did you get to that? Hermann asked me to come here,” Jay quickly fell into step with me, not that it was difficult as he’s much taller than me.

“I was here first,” he says plainly.

“Oh well, with that bulletproof logic…” he laughs.

“You headed to Molly’s?” we stop walking once we get to the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I’m opening today,” Jay slips the keys to his car from his jacket pocket. 

“Let me drive you.” “Oh no, you don’t have to do that. It’s only a couple of blocks and you’re working,” I spew out trying to find an excuse that’ll stick.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m parked right here,” he brushes off quickly. I roll my eyes at his back and get into the car. Jay puts the car into gear and sets off towards Molly’s. 

“So, is Hermann okay?” I ask since I couldn’t get his hopeless tone out of my head.

“His house was broken into, they didn’t get a lot, just some jewelry and a few Alexa’s. His wife came home which freaked them out and they bolted before they did any real damage.” “Jesus. Poor Hermann. Do you think you’ll find his stuff?” “Probably not, that sort of stuff is so small that they may keep it for themselves instead of pawning it, but we’ll try,” the car is silent for a little while till Jay pulls in front of Molly’s.

“Thanks for the ride.” “Course,” I get out of the car and make my way onto the sidewalk. “Hey Jo,” Jay says out of his rolled down window. 

“Hey Jay,” I say while playing with the keys Hermann gave me.

“Are you working late tonight?”

“Not too late, I have a short shift.”

“How about I meet you here later and we get a drink?” Jay says casually. I bite my lip and look down the street in hopes to take my mind off of what he just asked.

“Maybe,” I say as I make eye contact with him again. “See yah Jay.”

“See yah Jo.”

I’m losing control.